U is for uterus
by Hagzissa
Summary: A witch turns Dean into a woman. Dean is pissed. Just then Castiel decides to spend a little more time with his human protégés. Follow Dean into a world of period cramps, jeans without pockets and daft dudebros. Will Dean be able to defy his ideas of masculinity, come to term with his latent bisexual feelings and turn back?. Eventually Destiel. Warnings/description inside.
1. A is for angel perception

**Warnings:**

**'****mature' language, some fem!slash (not much), slash, fluffy feels, hate on patriarchy (turn away before it's too late)**

**Dean will be a woman throughout most of the story – there will be some interaction with OCs but not on an emotional level. Destiel will not happen because Dean is suddenly a woman and yay heterosexuality. There will not be het!Destiel.**

**I will still refer to Dean as 'he'.**

**In this fic the boys already live in the Bunker, their relationships are more in a season four/five-ish manner, please don't be confused, I just really love the Bunker.**

**This is going to be a multi-chapter fic - I don't know how long it's going to be, but hey, let's see.**

**Reviews are very much appreciated, both with criticism, praise and wishes for future chapters. Have fun reading!**

* * *

"Fucking witches!" Dean cursed.

His voice was sounding less gravelly than it ever had since he had hit puberty.

"Turning me into a girl? Seriously?!"

He had ranted for about ten minutes and Sam was somewhere between worried and amused.

"Well, to be fair, you did call her girlfriend a 'fucked up cunt'," he said matter-of-factly.

Dean rolled his eyes. So what? Collecting dog bones _was_ fucked up.

They had tracked the couple who had been striking terror into people's hearts down. When confronting the second witch, Dean had been shouting abuse. The witch had grabbed a pot with herbs and bones and whatnot and threw it into the fireplace.

"Guess, the spell was meant for someone else. We were sort of interrupting her," Sam said, "Remember that d-bag of a neighbor we met while investigating. Bet it was meant for him."

"I don't care who it was _meant for_. She cursed _me_, Sammy, goddamn it! And they are gone now? Why did you let them go?" Dean wanted to know.

"I told you; you were unconscious. I didn't know what she had done to you. Man, you'd've done the same."

Sam was right of course, but Dean would not tell him so. The past weeks had been nice. Dean was slowly getting accustomed to the benefits of having a permanent address. And then this bullshit happened.

Dean looked again in the little mirror above the sink, the reflection staring back at him; confused and angry. It was the face of a woman, familiar and alien at the same time. It had slightly pouty lips and freckles all over the place. The green eyes were unmistakably his own. His face was framed by a mane of shoulder-length hazel hair.

He was still wearing his gray shirt, now far too large and baggy, and the pair of pants he had been wearing when Sam had put him to bed. He had to hold them up so they wouldn't slip off his ass.

"Well, I sure as hell ain't staying like this!" Dean announced. "Cas!" he called, "Get your ass down here, now! I need your help!"

There was the familiar rustle of wings that announced the angel's arrival. Castiel's hair was even more ruffled than usual and his tie was hanging lopsidedly down his neck, as if he had been in a great hurry. He quickly stepped closer to Dean, ready to protect him. He checked the room for potential attackers, his angel blade in a firm grip, ready to stab whatever was attacking. When he had discovered no immediate danger, he relaxed slightly, turning towards Dean. He seemed confused.

Dean was relieved that he had come so quickly. This nightmare would be over before it had even started.

"Dean?" he asked, "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?!" Dean repeated in disbelief, "_This _is wrong! I'm fuckin' Taylor Swift, that's what's wrong!"

He pointed at his body.

Cas blinked a couple times in confusion before his eyes widened in sudden realization. He made a voiceless "oh".

"Yeah, _oh_!" Dean imitated Cas.

His face was hot from all the shouting.

"I.. I didn't notice -" Cas started.

"Pah, you didn't notice, are you blind or what?!"

He hated how his voice sounded, so high and _hysterical_. It sounded like he was about to cry.

"Dean, as an angel, I primarily perceive a human's soul. The physical body is only a secondary factor. Bodies can be similar, souls are unique. Especially yours, Dean. I know your soul better than any human's – when I raised you from perdition my grace temporarily fused with it, forever leaving an imprint."

Dean's now small hand subconsciously wandered to his upper arm. The handprint was still there, feeling bigger in relation to his trained, yet slim arm.

"I would recognize you in _any_ body," Cas explained simply, staring into Dean's eyes.

Dean felt uncomfortable under the piercing look of the angel. Cas speaking of him as the Righteous Man, saying he was unique and whatnot with total conviction always felt strange to him. It reminded him that he was far from perfect and he was embarrassed that Cas seemed not able to see it. Dean avoided his gaze. Sam cleared his throat with ostentation, a nonverbal _I'm still here, guys._ Dean mimicked him and stepped away from the angel.

"Can you fix it?" he asked.

"Fix what?" Cas asked puzzled, tilting his head to the side.

"Me, dumbo."

"I'm afraid I can't," Cas said.

"What do you mean, you can't? You've healed me before!"

"Having a female body is not a disease, Dean…"

"Look, man," Dean said, stepping closer to Cas only to realize how short he was now in comparison, "I've got boobs – _I'm a fucking girl_!"

"I've never had the impression that you were averse to breasts," Castiel stated, "Don't you keep numerous magazines for the sole purpose of looking at them?"

"Yeah, I like them on other people, Cas, goddamn it -"

"- and you are hardly a girl; the body that you are inhabiting in is sexually mature, which would make you a woman, if I remember your human labelling correctly."

Dean sighed.

"Just reverse the spell, would ya?"

"I told you: I can't."

"But you're an angel!" Dean protested.

He exchanged a look with his brother who was lingering, arms crossed, next to the door. He seemed equally dumbfounded.

"It is a very old and complex curse. Similar to your angel warding, it cannot be affected by what you call _angel_ _mojo_."

He used air quotes to express his dislike of the term.

"Listen, Dean, I'm sure the Men of Letters have a countercurse," Sam said reassuringly. "Just… fix your pants," he grinned, "and we'll hit the books."

* * *

Sam had left heading towards the library. Cas was awkwardly standing in the room and Dean was rumbling in his closet for clothes that actually fit. He wished that Cas would leave as well, but he was not in the mood of explaining human etiquette to him right now. So when he undressed, he somewhat hid behind the door of the closet. It was silly – Cas had seen him naked – but in this body, that was not his, he felt weirdly vulnerable.

Dean had shrunken nearly six inches. All his clothes were far too big, he found out, especially his jeans. He tried to fix the issue by tying a belt around his hip, but it still looked ridiculous and he was always in danger of tumbling over the seam.

"I can get you some clothes, if you wish it," Castiel offered from the other side of the closet door.

"Hell, no, you're not choosing what I wear," Dean said, "I'm not gonna be the secretary to your tax accountant."

"I don't understand," Cas huffed somewhat offended, "I was merely offering my assistance."

Dean remembered that Charlie had forgotten a pair of sweat pants during her last visit and quickly went to fetch them from the laundry, swaying slightly with each step. This body was so totally not cool.

He found Sam and Cas in the library. The long table was filled with stacks of books.

"The angel warding narrowed it a bit down," Sam said, barely looking up when Dean entered.

Dean sat down on the other side of the table, grabbed a book and sighed.

"Hey, Cas, remember that time you looked _everywhere_ in a second? Could you do that again, maybe?" he asked hopefully.

"That was different," Cas said, not bothering to explain why it was different.

"Okay…" Dean said, furrowing his brows.

He would never understand him, would he? Well, reading it was then; he might as well get it done now.

After a couple hours they had not yet found an answer to Dean's problem. Cas had done reading too – he was far more quicker than the two humans, but he too had not found a countercurse.

Still, he proved to be helpful, when Dean's empty stomach growled.

"What do you want?" Castiel asked them.

"Chinese?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, make it Chinese," Dean agreed, not really caring.

Only a short time later the angel reappeared, carrying two plastic bags of steaming food. Both Winchesters jumped at the food like animals. They unpacked it hastily and were greeted by unfamiliar smells.

"What is this, Cas?" Dean asked warily.

"Chinese food, as you requested."

"You mean this is _real_ Chinese food?" Sam asked, sounding excited. "Wow, thanks, Cas."

Castiel nearly smiled.

"You're welcome," he said.

Dean however eyed the exotic food suspiciously.

* * *

"Dean?!" Sam's voice sounded to him.

"Huh?" Dean made.

He had fallen asleep, his face on a book. His hair was obscuring his view, and he impatiently brushed it aside.

"I think I found something. It's a Celtic spell. Here, listen:

_The Change of the Moon Spell is a spell of Scottish origin that has been used since 400 AD, but it is based upon even older magic rites. There are several ingredients needed for the spell, many of them hard to find nowadays. Only if mixed in the correct -_"

"Get to the point, will ya?!" Dean interrupted his brother's lecture.

Sam rolled his eyes, but obeyed.

"_As the incantation suggests, the spell will 'turn a lord into a wench, turn lordliness into woefulness, change him like the moon changes, for a whole moon he will be her'_."

"What do you mean _for a whole moon he will be her_?!" Dean ranted.

"I guess it means you'll be a woman for a month," Sam said.

"How do we reverse it?" Dean asked.

Cas, who had looked over Sam's shoulder said: "We can't."

"But -"

"You just have to wait till it wears off," Sam said.

* * *

It was not that late – for the Winchesters' standards that is to say – when Dean started yawning. Maybe this body wasn't used to sleepless nights. He felt rather tired.

"I'll hit the hay," Dean announced.

"What?" Castiel asked confused, looking around as if he expected a haystack between the bookshelves.

"He's going to sleep," Sam explained.

"I'll watch over you," Cas offered.

"Thanks, man, really," Dean said, "but, you know, this is like the safest place on Earth and I would really like some me-time, 'kay?"

"Oh, right. I'll just stay here, then," Cas replied.

Dean had to smile. This weird angel. He would probably never understand him fully. Still it felt good to see him again after a couple weeks of being separate. It usually was funnier with Cas around. He interrupted their routine. He gave Cas a jovial pat on the shoulder before exiting.

Cas sat down in an armchair, looking quite out of place, like someone who wasn't used to sitting. Sam sighed and started to put books back into shelves. He, too, was tired. He expected Cas to vanish, but when he turned around, the angel was still sitting in the corner, inspecting the Bunker's ceiling.

"Cas, what are you still doing here?" he asked.

That Cas had stayed with them all day although he apparently was unable to help, struck him as odd. The angel had helped them out on particularly difficult hunts but even then he seldom stayed long. It was always Dean who asked him to stay a little longer. "Come on, Cas, have a beer with us, that's all part of the job," he would say. Now Cas was staying, without having Dean directly asked him to. He was not complaining – he, too, liked the angel's company – but it was out of the ordinary and in their job _out of the ordinary_ usually meant trouble.

Castiel didn't answer, but shifted in the leather seat.

"Don't you have angel business to do?" Sam went on.

"It can wait," Castiel finally replied. "I needed… some time out. Consider it as a holiday."

"Wait. Are you saying that angels can be stressed?" Sam asked disbelievingly.

"We are sentient beings, Sam," Castiel replied dead serious.

"So… what you're saying is, you spend your free time with _us_?"

"Dean called."

"I know…"

"He's distressed. I'm trying to assist him. Isn't that what… _friends_ do for each other?"

"Yeah, I suppose it is."

* * *

**I would like to thank Nyx Ro who pointed out some plot holes in this chapter, enabling me to fix them.**

**Please leave a little review. Thanks :)**


	2. B is for bra sizes

**Alright, here is the next chapter! I made some slight alterations in the first chapter, but nothing that affects the understanding of the story. So this time: Sam is a perv, Cas is a perv and Dean is losing his nerves. **

* * *

Last night Dean had almost immediately passed out when he had hit the mattress. When he woke up he was flat on his back. For moment he thought it had all been just a dream. He turned around to lie on his stomach, when he felt his breasts being squashed by the mattress.

"Shit," he grunted.

He lumbered to the bathroom, a spacious tiled room with several showers and sinks – something you might have expected in a school. It always made him question the Men of Letters' hygiene habits. Had they been showering together? Maybe there was a reason other than blatant misogyny that explained their reluctance of accepting women in their order.

Dean stripped off his t-shirt and boxers and took a proper look at himself in the tarnished mirror. He turned to all sides, inspecting himself. The anti-possession tattoo, like the handprint, was still there.

He wondered whether he would've found himself attractive if he had met himself. He didn't look like the girls in his magazines but he knew the photos were about as authentic as his FBI badges. His face was probably conventionally attractive with the round eyes and big lips. He was not exactly delicate – his thighs were almost the same size than they had been before. He looked trained but not as bulky. His breasts were medium-sized fitting his overall body type. He gave them a gentle squeeze. It felt weird to _feel_ it on both ends. His vulva was covered in a triangle of brownish pubes which felt soft when he touched them. He let his slim fingers glide a little bit more down, his index finger gingerly delving into the moist –

A throat was cleared. Dean jumped, a high-pitched little scream escaping his lips. Sam, wrapped in a towel, was standing in the doorway, ready for his morning shower. Dean grabbed his own towel and tried to cover himself as much as possible.

"Dude, I'm naked!" he protested.

"You're my brother," Sam said shrugging.

He passed Dean without paying much attention to him and stripped off himself. He turned on the water and started washing his hair.

"You're unbelievable," Dean said, while he properly wrapped up himself.

He felt like a burrito. A harassed burrito.

"Dean, I have seen you _have sex_! Now I see you naked – well, okay, touching yourself, but we've been there, right? – and now you're complaining?"

"Well, yeah," Dean huffed before leaving.

He would come back later.

* * *

"Alright, let's go," Sam said.

They walked down to the garage where he had parked the Impala the night before. Cas was tagging along, apparently annoyed that they had to use _human_ _transport_. Dean however had insisted. He hadn't liked the things the Chinese food had done to his gut and was sure that Cas' 'beaming' qualities would do him no good either. He was still wearing Charlie's sweat pants and the smallest shirt he could find. He felt really uncomfortable.

Dean was instinctively going to the driver's side.

"I'm driving," Sam declared, gently shoving him aside.

"What?!" Dean protested.

"You don't have a driver's license, sister," he said grinning.

Dean walked around the hood and took his seat shot-gun, glaring at his younger brother. Castiel zapped directly into the backseat, not bothering to open the door. Dean was astonished that the angel was not simply meeting up with them at the mall. In fact, he wondered why Castiel was still with them _at all_. Normally he popped off as soon as the monster was killed and the wounds licked. Cas, however, acted like it was perfectly normal for him to go grocery shopping with a bunch of humans. Well, he always acted as if he was off his rocker, so there was nothing to ponder on about, was there?

The drive to a mall on the outskirts of Lebanon was short.

"I'll get the groceries; you buy some clothes," Sam said, "and Cas, you -"

"I'll stay with Dean," Castiel announced.

"Great. Meet in two hours?" Sam suggested.

Dean nodded in agreement.

* * *

Dean had never particularly liked shopping. He just wanted to get it over with. He had made a list – he would buy a couple shirts and pairs of pants, underwear, socks, shoes and something that could pass off as an FBI outfit. A blazer jacket and white shirt would do. Lucky for Sam most people did not know the FBI's dress code by heart – else he would have needed to go to the hairdresser's ages ago. It was all a matter of looking important, though.

Finding new clothes shouldn't be a challenge, Dean thought. He was _so_ wrong.

"How is someone supposed to fit in there?!" Dean asked, as he unsuccessfully tried to zip the third pair of jeans.

Most pants were too tight, he could not move properly and when he did, they nearly fell off his ass. The pants that were comfortable to wear were not made of denim, which he preferred because of it was tear-proof and therefore extra protection. There was a reason why he _didn't do shorts_. The reason was fangs and claws and nettles and raw asphalt. Hunting was a rough job. When he finally found a pair that he found fit, he took several pairs.

Shoes were a serious problem too, but he settled with a pair of trainers which he kept on – he'd been walking around in his far too big slippers like a hobo.

Next was underwear – he hadn't thought bras were necessary, but the fabric of his t-shirt on his bare nipples felt weird and his boobs going up and down with every step he did, did annoy him. Strolling through the women's underwear department was kind of cool, he thought. There was some sexy lingerie he was admittedly _dying_ to try on but Cas was close behind him. He looked down his chest. Should he have measured his breasts or something? How was he supposed to know which bra size would fit him? He grabbed some bras at random, in a light nude color.

He headed off to the changing rooms, Cas tailing him.

Dean's numerous female conquests had made him familiar with bra latches, but usually he just had to open them. Putting the bra on however was quite a different matter. He tried to do it like he had seen Lisa do it, but either he didn't remember it correctly or she had been wearing a completely different bra, because it sure wasn't working.

"Jesus," Dean cursed, with his hands behind his back.

"What about him?" Castiel's voice sounded from directly behind the curtain.

Damn, was he spying through the gap or what?

The wire sewed under the cups felt heavy. The bra was by far too small, the fat wobbled under his armpits and his nipples were showing. He sighed deeply. So, the whole procedure. Again.

"Jesus, Jesus," he muttered again.

"Dean, why are you uttering the name of my father's son?" Castiel asked.

"Because I'm frustrated, that's why," Dean replied.

"You are having problems to find undergarments to cover your breasts."

It was not a question.

"Yes."

"I'll help you," Cas said and then there was the sound of wings.

"Cas, what are you -?"

Dean peaked out of the cubicle. The angel was nowhere in sight.

"Fuck," he said, quickly putting on his t-shirt again.

Leaving Castiel on his own in a store full of people? Not the best idea.

Dean was craning his delicate neck, searching for Cas. Soon he spotted the man in the tan trench coat, standing in front of the black lacy bra he had been eyeing previously. So it hadn't gone unnoticed, then. Castiel was looking around, squinting, searching for a bra for Dean. So, he had been inspecting – hell, measuring – his boobs with his fucking x-ray vision! Dean was slightly appalled. What a perv!

Another woman apparently thought the same.

"This is the women's department, you know!" she said, sounding rather aggressive. "You like looking what girls are buying, don't ya, for ya dirty fantasies -"

Dean sped towards them. He had to admit Cas _did_ look a bit suspicious with his coat and all. He had to do something or the woman would call security and Cas would do something stupid, like blowing them away with the Laser Look of the Lord.

Dean took a deep breath.

"Hey, Steve, honey, there you are," he crooned, accidently pitching his voice even higher.

He linked their arms.

"I thought I'd _lost_ you," he said desperately, hoping Cas would just play along.

The woman looked taken aback at this twist of events, yet still defensive. Dean looked up to Cas, who was eyeing him warily, as if he thought Dean had suddenly gone crazy.

Maybe he was, or maybe he was just being very thorough, (because, well, playing pretend was a huge part of his job and it was all about being convincing, right –) because next thing he did was tip-toeing and placing a kiss on Castiel's lips. It was merely a peck; short and chaste, the way kid may kiss its crush, not entirely sure whether they are liked back. Dean immediately pulled back, grabbing Castiel's arm and pulling him away from the aisle, where an unseen force had pushed over a rack of corsages.

When they were out of sight, Dean stopped, letting go of Cas' arm. Dean could hear feathers rustling and thought that Cas would leave, but he was wrong. The angel just stood there stone-faced.

"Why did you refer to me as Steve and kissed me?" he asked, tilting his head to the side and staring at him, as if he attempted to read his mind.

Which was probable, but Dean tried not to think about it.

"You forced me to," Dean said, not looking directly at Cas.

"I would never – How can you say that, Dean? I would never attempt to approach you on a physical level unless you explicitly stated so!" Castiel said, sounding almost indignant.

"The lady was -," Dean tried to explain, while simultaneously processing Cas' words. "What?" he interrupted himself, "Er, forget it, let's go."

He headed for the cashpoint, mindlessly picking up a pack of lady-boxers.

"Here," Castiel said, snapping his fingers.

Three bras appeared, one of them the lacy black one.

"Thanks," Dean mumbled.

* * *

**Again I would be very happy to hear your opinion!**


	3. C is for cop

**I'd like to thank anyone who favored or followed the story! I AM REALLY HAPPY.**

**I'm sorry that it took so long to update! I hope I will be able to do it faster next time, but I'm currently about to move, so I'm not sure how long it will take.**

**So, this time more case, less Cas. I'm really sorry for that, it kinda went out of control. I'll fix that in the next chapter. Hope you like it any way. Enjoy!**

* * *

The brothers were sitting in the library, their laptops in front of them. Castiel had left them alone, muttering something about going to Finland but most definitely coming back soon.

"Hey, Sam, I might have found something," Dean announced.

"On the witches?" Sam asked.

"Nope. Three bloodless corpses up in Wyoming."

"Vamps?" Sam suggested, looking up from his laptop, where he, too, had been searching for a case.

"Seems so. I'll pack my stuff."

Dean stood up, closing his laptop.

"Hey, Dean, wait!" Sam held him back.

"What is it?" Dean asked annoyed, turning around.

"You sure you can handle that?"

Dean didn't understand.

"Handle what?"

"Hunting," Sam said simply.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Um, because you're under a spell and we have no idea if you can still fight -"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"I'm still _me_, Sam, with tits or without."

Sam sighed. He, too, stood up. Folding his arms in front of his chest he said: "Alright, proof it."

"What?"

"Proof that you can still fight."

"Alright."

Sam and Dean went down into the garage which was the most spacious place in the Bunker. They stood opposing each other, five yards apart. Dean rolled his hands into fists, legs in a solid stance. He was ready or so he told himself. Sam was so incredibly tall. That alone made him an intimidating view. Maybe for the first time in his life he could understand how they must look to the creatures they were hunting.

Without announcing his intention, Sam advanced on him. His large fist was aimed at Dean's head. Dean held up an arm to ward the swing off. He had overestimated his power, however. The blow hit him right on the cheekbone, its vehemence only slightly attenuated by his ineffective block.

Hot pain seeped through his face, making him see white before his eyes – and this was Sam going easy on him, he knew it. A straight blow from his brother would have knocked him out – it was him after all, who had taught him how to punch.

Sam struck him with a second blow, this time aimed at his short-rips. The air was pressed out of his lungs and Dean was bowing down, coughing.

Sam let him straighten up. Dean had his eyes fixed on his brother, waiting for his next attack. Sam was going again for his head. Dean had learnt his lesson. He dodged the blow and jabbed his elbow into Sam's stomach. His brother grunted as he hit his abs and grabbed Dean's shoulder. In no time Sam had him in a headlock that was so tight that Dean was struggling for air. He clawed his fingernails into Sam's lower arm, but he wouldn't budge.

With all the strength he could muster he stomped on Sam's foot. He loosened his grip for a moment and Dean could escape.

Still short of breath Dean started his counter attack. Trying to punch him in the face while Sam was standing upright would have been a ridiculous idea. Dean kicked him in the guts, and had it followed by a knee strike. In this crouched position, it was impossible for Sam to defend himself against the hit Dean placed between his shoulder blades. Grabbing the fabric of Sam's jacket, he yanked his brother down on the hard concrete, where he landed face first.

Dean stepped back, pleased with himself.

"I'll check if there's enough dead man's blood in the trunk," Dean announced, wiping sweat from his forehead.

* * *

"_Diana Prince_?" Sam read skeptically, when Dean handed him his new driver's license.

"I'm now officially _Wonder Woman_," Dean announced with a grin.

Sam grinned back weakly. There were scratch marks on his cheek, where he had scraped over the floor. His stomach was hurting a bit too.

Dean had been pissed that his brother had doubted his ability to fight – but now that he had shown him the ropes, he considered them even.

Dean had insisted on faking new a driver's license first, so he could finally drive his baby again.

"Dude, it's only been two days," Sam had said.

"Well, a man has needs," Dean had replied.

"Man, I don't know what you are implying but I really don't want to know."

Now Dean was adjusting the front bench so he could reach the pedals. It was frustrating. This was not the way he had imagined their reunion.

"I can't fit my legs in here," Sam grumbled when he was finished.

"Too bad."

* * *

Dean inspected himself in the mirror. They were at a motel in Flounce, Wyoming, changing into their fed outfits. Sam was standing behind him, tying his tie. Dean had tried to put his hair in a bun for a more professional look but after a rather unsuccessful attempt, he tied it into an unprofessional ponytail. Sam had given him the hair ties, a big grin plastered on his face. "That's rich coming from _you_, Rapunzel!" Dean had said.

They walked into the police station. A stout police officer with a pink face greeted them with a nod; he had his feet on the table. He looked from Sam to Dean, whom he gave a slow once over. A small grin appeared on his face and he put his donut aside in reverence.

He goggled at Dean until they produced their FBI badges. He seemed to get a grip on himself and quickly put down his feet.

"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked Sam.

"Agent Solo, FBI," he introduced himself, "and this is my partner, Agent Harry. We're here to inspect the bodies of the three teenagers."

"Ah, yes," the officer said, coming around his desk. "Jimmy didn't tell me you'd come," he announced as he led them through a short corridor.

He stopped in front of a door.

"Here we are," he said and Dean could feel his hot breath on his cheek. "You might wanna wait outside, sweetheart, it's a nasty sight."

"Oh, believe me, _sweetheart_, I've seen worse," Dean replied drily.

"Don't be so sure, you haven't seen them yet," he answered in a playful tone, like one might speak to an unknowing child.

Dean searched Sam's eyes, signalizing him _I'm gonna kill the guy_.

The officer showed them the bodies. Dean stepped closer to the slab were a girl laid, skin ashen. He pulled off the cover a little. The name tag said her name was Tanya Rakinski, age 16.

She had the typical circular bite marks of a vampire on her neck, but that wasn't it. There were stab wounds in her lower abdomen.

The other two teenagers were boys, both 19. The name suggested that one of them was Tanya's brother.

Sam exchanged irritated looks with Dean. A vamp that stabbed their victim first?! That was definitely something new. Usually vampires could overpower and unarmed human easily – they had no need for stabbing. Also the wounds were small, as if they were made by a pocket knife. Not exactly a killer's weapon of choice.

The boys looked pretty much the same as the girl, one had a few scratches on his face as well, the other one bruise marks next to the bite. From the size of the marks they could have come from small hands. A vampire that tried to suffocate his victims? That was not right.

"Cause of death?" Sam asked the officer.

"_Unknown_…" the officer whispered making spooky fingers.

"You think the death of three teenagers is funny?" Sam asked, eyebrow raised.

"No, sir," he said hastily, "and it's actually three deaths and a missing person."

"Is it?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, Louis Morland, who went to school with the boys, has been missing the last five days."

They asked the officer for a copy of the coroner's report and their case files. While operating the copier, the officer was eyeing Dean.

"So, your first time in Flounce?"

"Yep."

He nodded, apparently debating whether he should say something else but deciding against it.

He handed Dean the copies; the paper was still warm. He quickly scribbled something on a piece of paper and gave it to Dean.

"My number – if you have any questions on the case or care to go out later…"

He winked.

As soon as they were outside Dean vented his anger.

"That guy seriously gave me his fucking cell number! Does he think I'm gay or what?!"

"I guess he thought the opposite," Sam said.

"Don't be smart with me now, Sammy! How can he possibly think I would want to go out with him? Remember when we came in and he fucking undressed me but when it came to business it was all like 'oh, sir, what can I do for you, sir?' and he called me a sweetheart and told me to stay outside, what the hell?!"

"Oh come, Dean, calm down. No one expects you to call him…"

* * *

They went back to the motel and changed. Dean put on one of his old shirts and turned up the sleeves. He felt better in it, more like himself. Now all he needed was something to eat, some pie if he could get it. He deserved it after the indignities.

Sam had started reading the files and Dean headed out to "fetch some grub".

He was in the line at a local _Biggerson's _when his cell phone rang. He was carrying it together with his wallet in a paper bag they had from their last grocery run. His pants, he had realized earlier with shock, had fake pockets.

"Hello?" he asked when he had finally had it in his hands.

"Dean," Castiel's voice said.

"Hey, Cas, what's up?" he said.

"I don't understand…"

"I mean: _How are you? What are you doing? _Something along the lines…"

"Right. I am looking for you."

"We're at Flounce, Wyoming, digging into a case. You wanna come, or…?"

"If that is fine with you?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm at a burger joint at the mo'. _Biggerson's. _But don't zap in here! You can wait with the car, alright?"

As a response there was a beep. Cas had ended the phone call.

"What can I get ya?" the woman at the counter asked. "We also have some nice salads with low-carb dressing and diet coke or water…"

"Um, I'd like two double cheeseburgers with extra bacon and a slice of pie for dessert if you have one."

"Okay…" she said, typing in the order.

He waited till the food was done. When she handed him the bags, he said: "Thanks, swee -," he bit his tongue, "thanks."

With the three paper bags in his hands and his car keys in his mouth he went to the parking lot. He expected to see Cas waiting in front of his baby, but when he arrived, he saw the fucker was already sitting shotgun, inspecting the content of the glove compartment. It contained not only a bottle of holy water but also a stack of condoms, Dean recalled in horror.

If the angel thought the mixture was blasphemous, however, he didn't remark on it.

"So, Dean, 'what's up'?" Cas asked, using his beloved air quotes.

"_What's up?_" Dean repeated in disbelief.

"Yes, how are you? What are you doing?"

"Well, apart from the fact that I've been called 'sweetheart' and that I got weird looks for ordering a double cheeseburger, I'm fine. I'm peachy."

"I thought 'sweetheart' is a term of endearment," Castiel said, while Dean handed him the food bags.

"It is, but only if you are, uh, _endeared_."

"I see."

* * *

**I know that's not a good point to end the chapter, but, don't know. So, lovely fellows: What do you say?**


	4. D is for Dean in distress

**This got A LOT more angsty than I had planned. This chapter will be about the case, but not only. The next chapter will be a bit more fun and not as supernatural, I guess.**

**Again, quick reminder, I'm screwing with chronology. Spoilers for 7x13 "The Slice Girls". **

**Have fun.**

* * *

"Dean, get this," Sam said when he entered, "The stab wounds on the girl were caused her after she got sucked."

"So, what, vamp drinks her, and then stabs her for fun and giggles?"

"Seems like it."

Dean sat down with Sam at the table.

"Hey, Cas," Sam greeted him.

"Hello, Sam."

They started eating.

"Figure the vamp attack is connected to the missing boy?" Dean asked.

"Possible. The vics knew him, so -"

Castiel interrupted them.

"There are no vampires in this town."

"What?"

"I cannot feel the presence of a vampire. Unless they have found a way to protect themselves from my senses - which is highly unlikely - there are none."

"Nomadic vamps?" Sam suggested.

"Still doesn't explain the knifing."

They sat a moment in silence.

"Think it's not too late to go interview the families?"

"Yeah, alright, let's go."

That meant they had to change again. Dean went into the small attached bathroom to do so. It was silly, he knew that. Sam was his brother and his female shape wasn't changing _that_. And Cas – Cas was his friend, the closest friend he had at the moment beside Sam. He had changed in front of Cas back when he was male. Just because he was a girl now he should feel ashamed of his body? What was so different about it? It was silly, absolutely silly. Was he feeling that way because he was a woman and Cas a man? Well, Cas was not even a man, not really. Angels were sexless – the terrestrial parameters of sexual polarity that were attached to many creatures did not affect them. Yes, some of them chose their human vessel based on the gender they could identify most with. Dean had no idea how Cas felt about it. He had never asked, never really thought about it. Cas had chosen Jimmy because he was devotional, not because he was male, hadn't he? Still, he didn't know how he would have felt if Cas had chosen a female vessel. _Oh God, would I have flirted with him if he had been in some hot chick? _Dean thought. He tried to imagine Cas in another body. He imagined a female version of Jimmy; large blue eyes, a dimpled face, the trench coat of course and yeah, maybe even short hair like Cas had now. Ruffled short hair that he would like to tidy, that would be soft under his touch. And Cas would lean into the touch like a kitten and he would purr with that deep voice of his and his lips that had been surprisingly soft when– no, he had to stop. Cas was his _friend_. He shook his head. His female imagination had gone haywire for a moment. Dean was not gay. And Cas, well, if Dean hadn't met other angels than Cas he would never have thought that sexual attraction was even possible for them. Cas was certainly not going to _respond_ to Dean's new body. Angels primarily perceived a human's soul, right?

Dean sighed. Why was he even thinking about that kind of shit?

* * *

They had the parents' addresses from the case file and first headed out to the Rakinskis'.

"Cas, you keep it cool, right? Let us do the talking and for _heaven's_ sake no angel mojo, okay?"

"I don't understand how this is connected to the sake of Heaven, but I will do as you ask."

"Right. You still got your badge?"

"Yes."

Dean rang.

After a little time, the door was opened slightly by a small woman with a pale face and a red nose.

"Yes?" she asked warily, looking at them in suspicion.

"Are you Mrs Rakinski?" Sam asked calmly and she nodded, "We're very sorry for your loss. We're FBI, we'd like to ask you a few questions about what happened."

They showed her their badges which she studied carefully.

"We already talked to the police…" she said flatly.

"This is just fact checking, we won't be long," Sam reassured her.

"Well, alright, come on in," she said. "Colin?!" she called her husband, who appeared from upstairs.

The Rakinskis led them into their living room. Mrs Rakinski sat down on an armchair, her husband standing behind her, arms crossed. The pretend feds had no choice but to sit down on the couch opposite. Dean sat between Sam and Cas, who were both needed much space, leaving Dean squashed in the middle. He was terribly conscious of Cas' thigh against his.

"What can you tell us about said night?" Sam asked.

Mrs Rakinski was unable to say anything, but her husband told them with a monotonous voice what he remembered, as if he was distancing himself from the reality. Their kids had met with their son's buddy, Patrick, to do camping on the side of a lake not far away. They had taken the car and had left at six o'clock.

"Did anyone have a grudge against them?" Dean asked.

"No. No," Mrs Rakinski said now, "There are… _were_ nice kids. Popular. Lots of friends. No one would…"

She let her voice trail off and produced a heavily used handkerchief from the pocket of her pants. She blew her nose, the sound almost offensively loud in comparison to the quiet conversation that they had had.

"Anything strange you noticed?" Dean asked, just to make sure.

"Like what?" she asked.

"Like, don't know, maybe some sort of hobo lurking around… are there any vacant buildings near the place where the vics were found?"

"The _vics_?!" Mrs Rakinski repeated, "Do you mean my children?! My DEAD CHILDREN?!"

She suddenly started to cry. Dean looked at her helplessly. He had never been particularly good with interviewing people. He sometimes lacked sensitivity. Like now. That's why he let Sam do the talking mostly. He felt sorry for the poor woman.

Mr Rakinski had an arm around his sobbing wife who rocked back and forth.

"Ma'am, do you have any idea what's it's like to lose your kids?!" he asked sharply.

There was a moment of silence until Dean replied. His voice was quiet.

"Yes, I do."

Mr Rakinski looked at him sternly, as if to see whether he was just saying this to calm him. Apparently he could see the glimmering in Dean's eyes. A small tear was collecting in the corner of his eye and he hastily rubbed it away. He had managed not to think about it.

"What happened?" the husband asked cautiously.

Dean shot a quick look to Sam.

"I had a daughter. Emma. She was very young when… a hunter shot her."

"That's terrible," Mr Rakinski said.

"Well, it wasn't his fault, was it? He thought she were a wild animal."

Sam was looking down on his feet unable to meet Dean's eyes.

"I'm sorry I upset you, Mrs Rakinski," Dean said, "We will go now."

* * *

As soon as they had left the porch, Sam touched his shoulder.

"Dean, I…"

"_I don't wanna talk about it_," he said angrily and brushed his hand off.

"We never…"

"I SAID, I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!" Dean shouted.

He grabbed Castiel's sleeve and pulled him with him, across the street towards the park. Sam sighed and got to the car. He would drive to the other boy's parents and come back when Dean had calmed down.

When they had reached the first park bench, Dean sat down. Ducks were swimming around in a little pond and not far off, children were playing on a playground. It was not too different from the one where they had first talked and Cas had confessed his doubts. Now however Cas kept quiet. Dean had his face buried in his hands. It was hot and although he did not utter a sound, tears were streaming down his skin; he could feel the salty taste on his lips.

He had tried so hard to forget, but now and then Emma's young face crept into his dreams. _I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you!_ she shouted at him and in his dream they were in Purgatory which he imagined to look like Hell.

Why was he always losing family?! Mom, Dad, Adam, Bobby, Lisa and Ben, Emma?! He was cursed. He had always been. And yet, he was still alive, an angel sitting by his side. Wasn't it ironic?

Castiel's hand was situated on Dean's back. It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot to Dean. Castiel, who's social skills were limited to a minimum, was trying to comfort him, in a very human way, which he had, no doubt, picked up from watching his father's creation for a long time.

"It's not your fault, Dean," Cas said, responding to Dean's thoughts without him having said a word. "None of it is. We are only tiny players in a huge cosmos that not even God can understand in its entirety."

"Cas, that's blasphemy," Dean managed to joke.

He wiped his face and looked over at his friend.

"Well, I learnt from the best…"

* * *

They met up at the motel, Dean a little abashed for his little break-down. Sam decided not to comment on it but instead filled them in on the results of his investigation.

"I've been talking to the Lynns. Not much information on their side. Apparently David and Pat were best friends since kindergarten. Parents say he had no enemies… yada, yada."

"Nothing new, then?"

"Well, I also talked to the missing kid's mom."

"And?"

"The mom is confident that her son _ran away_ _from home_ while Police is thinking kidnapping. Mrs Morland says her son was in therapy for violent behavior and that he didn't come home from a therapy session. And now get _this_: when they were nine, Pat and David nearly _drowned_ Morland. It was on a school trip and there were no consequences because they were still so young. Also, Louis got an army knife that could've been the weapon used."

Dean brushed his hair out of his face.

"So you're saying Morland is our vamp?"

"Could be," Sam said.

"Any idea where he could be?"

"Well, his mom gave me the address of his father who left them when junior was three. He lives in Salt Lake City."

"Alright, let's go. It's the only lead we have, right?"

So they changed (that is to say the brothers did) and packed their stuff: dead man's blood and machetes – with Cas at hand that probably wasn't necessary, but they wanted to be prepared for every possible outcome. This time they accepted when Cas offered them a _lift_.

With their weapons stuffed in Dean's duffle bag they were zapped on a street that was despite ofthe later hour still crowded. They stood in front of a small apartment building, with the paint coming off the dirty front.

"Nice," Dean commented.

Dean found the name Morland and rang.

"Hello?" a male voice said through the speaker.

"FBI," Cas said, "We are here to talk about your son."

Dean looked surprised at him. That was actually professional…

"Come in," Mr Morland said, letting them in.

They walked up the dark stairs up towards second story. Sam was taking the lead, and Dean and Cas filed behind him.

"How was I?" Castiel asked in a hushed voice.

"Great, Cas," Dean replied, unable to suppress a smile.

"Oi, guys, we're on a hunt. You can save your… _flirting_ for later," Sam whispered.

"Bitch," Dean said, tremendously happy that he hadn't told his brother about the _kiss_.

"Jerk."

They knocked on the door of apartment number 2c. The door was opened a little. A guy with ragged black hair and a heavy scruff peaked through the gap.

"You don't look like feds."

"We're undercover," Dean said quickly and fished his badge from the pocket of his jeans.

Finally, he let them in. They stepped into a small hall that led directly into a living room that desperately needed to be tidied up. A stack of empty liquor bottles stood on the couch table. He had been drinking – Dean sensed the familiar smell of alcohol on him.

"Are there any news on Louis? Have you found 'im?" he asked.

"No, sir, not yet," Sam said. "I'm afraid that Louis is now a suspect on the triple murder case."

"What?" he made slowly.

Sam gave him a sad smile. Mr Morland ran his hand through his hair, considering the idea.

"You got any evidence?" he asked, a bit aggressive.

"His fingerprints were found on the body," Sam lied without hesitation.

Mr Morland sat down on the couch.

"Fuck," he murmured. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

While Mr Morland sat there, Dean was giving the place a once over. There were two doors, probably leading to a bathroom and a bedroom, and a small window in the living room slash kitchenette.

"It's all my fault," Mr Morland muttered under his breath.

"So, what, we wait till Edward bobs up? _If_ he bobs up?" Dean asked quietly.

"You got a better plan?" Sam wanted to know.

"I got no plan at all. This is all leading nowhere!"

"You suggested we go here!" Sam said replied hotly.

Mr Morland didn't even notice their argument. He had opened a fresh bottle of liquor and took a generous sip.

"You know, I was never there for him. I _know_ that. 'S all my fault."

"Why should he even come here?" Dean asked. "I mean, look at him. Not exactly the person you go to for help."

"Dean, we should just -"

But Dean didn't learn what they should, because Cas was interrupting them.

"_Boys_," he said urgently, tugging at Dean's sleeve to draw his attention on him.

"They're here."

"What?" the Winchesters asked in unison. "Who?"

"Two vampires, bedroom window. I'll take Morland somewhere safe."

Cas zapped in front of the crouching man on the couch, touched his forehead and off they were. Dean dropped his bag, and hurried to get their blades out. He quickly passed one to Sam. They could hear a little bit of noise, as if the bedroom window was opened. Steps. There was no time for dead man's blood.

"Maybe he's not here," a young voice said.

"Bullshit, I could smell 'im…" the voice of a man replied, rough and slurred, "… and I also smell…"

The bedroom door was kicked down, and a man emerged from it; he wore ragged clothes, an old-fashioned hat and a mad grin, exposing a set of teeth as spikey as needles.

"Hunters," he growled and jumped at them.

From there on there was chaos. Vamp hit Sam hard in the face. Then he threw himself on Dean with unhuman strength. He fell down on floor, the vamp all over him, his lined face dirty with old traces of blood around his lips. He was a vampire of the old school – a nomad, a ruthless killer, having become less human over the years.

"Hello, pretty," he hissed in Dean's ear while pressing a strong hand over his mouth and nose. Dean struggled to get him off. His machete had fallen from his hand, it laid out of reach. In the corner of his eye, he saw that a second figure had appeared. Louis.

So there had been two vamps all along. Louis had stabbed the kids and the vampire had been his accomplice.

The boy was not an experienced fighter that was apparent; his movements uncoordinated and ineffective. Still, they were fast. Fast and wild and unpredictable. He was clutching his army knife, and pushed it forward with immense speed. Sam was completely occupied trying to avoid the blade.

"LOUIS, YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS!" he shouted over the fighting, "YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE A KILLER! JUST BECAUSE HE TURNED YOU -"

"I didn't kill anyone because I was turned," Louis replied oddly calm. "I killed because I wanted to. I killed them because they wanted me dead. I met Fred. He was hunting. I was hunting. We joined forces. But this is _me_. I came here to kill the useless prick that is my father and you had the misfortune to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, so I'm gonna kill _you_."

He could hear the pocket knife clatter on the floor. The talking had distracted Louis and Sam had been able to disarm him. Louis hissed, baring his horrible teeth.

Dean could feel the vamp's sharp teeth on the skin of his neck; he could feel him inhale the scent of him. He was playing. Dean was tearing at his clothes, he was kicking and hitting and fighting.

He needed oxygen. His vision turned black.

And in the darkness, _I'm gonna die_, there was one word, _shit, I'm gonna die_, a syllable, _please GOD OR SHIT I don't wanna die, _a syllable that was hope. _CAS! _ he cried in his head _CAS, I'M DYING!_

There was an outcry of surprise and anger, a flash of light and there was air, another flash of light, the thud of a body hitting the floor and a sigh.

"Dean?!"

A worried voice.

"Hey, Dean!"

Another worried voice and a gentle pat on the cheek by an enormous hand. He inhaled sharply, his lungs filling with the air he craved for so painfully. Slowly his companions came into view again. There was Cas, kneeling beside him, worry displayed in his eyes.

"Cas," Dean croaked.

"I'm so sorry, Dean, I should have been there earlier. The place I intended to bring Morland was not safe, so I -"

"Sshh…" Dean made, "You saved us. Thanks, Cas."

* * *

**The end was rather cheesy, wasn't it? Next chapter up soon, I hope. Everyone wish me luck, I'm moving to London. (REVIEWS ARE LOVE.)**


	5. E is for envious angels

**Hello, lovely readers, thanks for all the follows and favourites! You make me very happy!**

**I'm very sorry that it took so long to update, I moved to another country, started my new job, so it's been a busy week. I didn't have the time to go over the chapter again, but I wanted you to have it now, I'm going to edit it later. So if you see some mistakes, send my a lil message. I'm also afraid that Dean's a little ooc towards the end.**

**This chapter will contain some Dean x OC lesbian smut. I marked where it begins and ends, so if you're not into that, you can skip the part without missing much of the plot.**

**Knock yourself out ;)**

* * *

They spent the night in the motel room, the Winchesters passed out on their beds. Castiel sat on a chair beside Dean's bed when he fell asleep and he was still there when Dean woke up. He wondered whether he had sat there all night.

They drove back to Kansas, with Dean driving far too fast, his eyes fixed on the road. He couldn't look at Cas probably. The relief and gratefulness that he had been filled with had been replaced by shame and embarrassment. He hadn't been able to fight off _one_ vamp. He'd been a weak-ass damsel in distress just the way Sam had predicted.

Sam was not speaking about it, knowing only too well that Dean felt bad. As soon as they were home, Sam buried himself in work, reorganizing the file storage room. Dean was a little bored. Cas was keeping him company, but he felt as if he had to entertain the angel, which was not that easy.

After three days staying mostly at the Bunker – for everyone had silently agreed that Dean was not fit for another case - Dean needed to go out. He needed fresh air and the company of people who didn't know how much of a failure he was. It was quite late in the evening when he decided to go.

There was a club not far from the Bunker. He had been there a couple times. He wasn't much one for dancing, but the drinks were cheap and it was quite easy to chat up a lonely girl on the counter. He wanted to do just that; he needed a distraction from all that crap.

He put on a tank top, wondering whether it looked good on him. He tied his hair to a ponytail. He liked how his jawline looked like when he did that. He had bought some lipstick – just out of curiosity. He just wanted to try it. Applying it was not as easy as he had thought, though. There was some of the red color smeared in the corners of his mouth, but he managed to fix that. It looked surprisingly good actually. It seemed to sharpen his face.

He winked at his reflection.

"Hey, lookin' good over there," he said to himself.

"Who are you talking to?" Cas asked.

The angel had appeared out of thin air, right behind him. Dean could see his curious expression in the mirror.

"Jesus, Cas, how many times did I tell you not to do that?!"

"My apologies," Cas said good-naturedly. "What are you doing?" he added.

He told Cas what he was planning and Cas immediately offered to come with him.

He was not in the mood to play babysitter for Cas, but the angel insisted. Dean finally gave in, on one condition.

"You are not going to wear that trench coat of yours to the club."

Castiel gave him an irritated look, but he didn't question it. With a snap of his fingers the trench coat was gone.

"Lose the jacket and tie too or else people will think you're trying to sell them an insurance," Dean said and Cas obeyed.

"Are you pleased now?" Cas asked.

Dean nodded, fetching the car keys. Cas followed him downstairs. They came across Sam, who had made himself a cup of coffee before he resumed his work.

"Where are you going this late?" he asked curiously, blocking the way.

"Out," Dean replied simply.

"Hey, wait, is that lipstick?" Sam asked. "Aw, you dressed up! How _cute_!" he teased.

"Shut up."

"And Cas, too. Nice seeing you without that coat for a chance. Suits you."

"Is that flattery?" the angel asked sounding unsure.

"It's a compliment," Sam said, shrugging.

He made way for them and Dean thought they had overcome Sam's inquisition, when his brother called after them: "Have fun on your date…!"

* * *

On the car ride Dean thought about what Sam had said about Cas looking good. He hadn't looked at the angel properly, but now that he was sitting next to him on the front bench, his hands folded in his lap, Dean shot him side-way glances.

Without the formal clothing Cas looked almost like a regular guy. Because of his ill-fitting coat and suit he had always looked rather small and wispy, despite him being nearly six feet tall. Now however, Dean realized that Cas was in fact well built. Not as bulky as Sam was and he had been, but still. There was most definitely more muscle mass on him than he had thought.

His white shirt was a nice contrast to his dark brown hair that was a mess, as always. Pleasant anticipation shone in his eyes, something close to a smile lingering on his lips. Yes, Sam was right, Cas was a handsome fellow. He looked normal and harmless at the moment, but when he demonstrated his full power, wings and all, Dean had to admit, he thought that Cas was pretty hot. Heat rose to his cheeks, as he realized those sentiments and he quickly focused on the road again.

* * *

"What d'you want to drink?" Dean asked.

"Dean, you know that I don't need to hydrate."

"That's not what you do it for… you do it to get drunk."

"Not all the beverages in here combined could have such an effect," Castiel stated simply.

He might look totally casual, but there was still a stick up his ass. Dean shrugged and ordered himself a whiskey. He had thought he and Cas would have a drink together, like _normal_ friends would do, but apparently Cas had decided to play celestial being tonight. So Dean decided he would focus on his human instincts, too, and try to get laid.

He led his eyes wander through the club's interior. There was a huge dance floor, surrounded by little tables and chairs, primarily occupied by groups of friends who spent the night together, and there was the long bar, where Dean and Cas sat. He usually found his sex partners at the bar, when they were having a rest, or a drink. When he was lucky, the girls would come to him, taking pity on that lonely, sulking but actually very handsome guy. Sometimes he had to dance before they got off together. But usually a talk, his charm and a couple of drinks were enough. There was a motel not far away that they could go to if the girl was not living nearby.

Today however, he was not lucky – none of the girls were noticing him.

He had thought that nothing would've changed and he now realized how naïve he had been. He was a woman now – but he was still attracted to girls which _technically_ made him a lesbian. _Oh my God, I'm GAY! _Dean thought. _I guess that means I've come to the wrong club. _There _was _a gay bar in town; he'd driven past it a couple times. Once a drunk guy had whistled after him. He wasn't sure how he had been feeling at that moment. He knew he should have been flattered, but it had felt a bit creepy – just the way it had when that police officer had goggled at him.

He let his eyes wander. How was he to recognize whether a woman might be interested in him? It was not as if queer people ran around wearing a rainbow flag tucked to their chest (well, at least not all of them).

No men were hitting on him either. He felt a little relieved, but somehow a bit disappointed too. Was he that unattractive? Maybe they were just sitting in a unfortunate spot; a plant was hiding them from view.

Well, that guy over there had been looking towards him a couple of times. He stood there, all alone, with a beer in his hand. He could be interested, Dean thought. Why was he not coming over? He didn't look exactly shy. He was standing there openly, with a proud stance and a t-shirt having _get it while you can_ printed on front.

It hit Dean after quite a while. He had been watching a man and woman who sat together on a table, and wondered whether they were together. He thought they did, they were deeply engaged in conversation, no-one else was with them… The way she looked at him, her gaze always upon him… Cas was doing the same. The club seemed to be of no interest to him. He hadn't talked with anyone else, he hadn't danced, he hadn't even looked at the girls.

Of course everyone thought they were together, when they were sitting together all the time!

Men were not hitting on him because they thought he was there with his boyfriend and girls were not hitting on him because they thought he was straight!

"I'm never gonna get laid," Dean muttered bitterly under his breath.

Castiel interrupted his ramblings about Enochian. He had been talking about that a lot lately, trying to teach Dean. He wondered why it was important to him. Cas knew Dean was not exactly fond of foreign languages. He had worked hard on his Latin, too hard for his taste.

Dean wondered how he could get rid of Cas, even if it was only temporarily. Maybe Cas could have some fun in the meantime too? There was this one woman sitting a few stools afar from them that had been glancing towards Cas for a long time now. She, too, probably thought they were together and hadn't bothered to have a try on Cas.

Dean gave his friend a nudge.

"See that lady over there?" he said, discretely nodding in her direction.

"You mean that brunette female five chairs away from us?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah, her. Man, she digs you…"

Castiel looked straight at him and didn't say a word. Whether it was because of confusion or something else, Dean could not tell.

"Go over and talk to her!" he ordered.

"Why would I do that?" Castiel asked, slightly alarmed.

Dean chuckled. The whole scenario reminded Dean of their little trip to the brothel. Yeah, the angel's social skills were indeed rusty. He wondered how to give the angel a hint he would understand.

"To have a little _fun_…"

"I _do_ have fun, Dean," Castiel said earnestly, "You know that I enjoy every second we spend together."

"Er, right," Dean stuttered.

Yes, he could see why people thought they were a couple. If they heard Cas talk…

"Um, me too, Cas; it's just I would like to have some time on my own, you know, to hook up and stuff…"

"To what?"

"Oh, Christ, Cas – you're a bigger virgin than that Mary of yours!"

There was a small silence in which Castiel stared at him.

"So, what?!" Cas rumbled finally.

It seemed that referring to the mother of Jesus had not been a good idea. Cas had stood up. He was taller than Dean sitting in his high chair, and that angelic sparkle had returned to him. He glared at Dean, blue eyes fixed on him in what could only be described as wrath. In a way he was terrifying; magnificent and powerful. He didn't look like an awkward virgin at all.

"I thought _we_ were spending some time together with conversation and intoxication on your side. This is why I followed you to this venue! But the only thing you had in mind when you came here, you son of a bat, was intercourse! And I was fatuitous enough to follow you! The other angels were right about you, Dean Winchester. You are selfish and lecherous!"

Those were his words, before he left. He practically stormed outside.

"Cas!" Dean called after him.

Dean looked blankly towards the exit, where the angel had left. Great. He had upset Cas. He ordered another glass of whiskey. He'd fucked up, as usual. He was angry at Cas for not understanding and angry at himself for disappointing Castiel. He would need to give him some time to calm down again and until calling him again.

* * *

**[Dean x OC part starts here]**

"Are you alright?" a voice said close to him.

He looked up to see the woman who had started all this sit down next to him. Dean glared at her.

"Did you have a fight?" she asked, sympathy in her voice.

"No, he's just being weird as always," Dean with a sigh.

It was not her fault, of course.

"Your boyfriend?" she asked, smilingly.

"No, we're just friends," Dean answered.

"Good."

Dean looked at her. Was she really that much into Cas? Well, good luck with that. There was a smirk on her lips. It was a very attractive smirk, Dean thought. She had a round face, beautifully curved lips and soft, dark eyes that were outlined with kohl. Long curly hair framed her face, the color of dark chocolate. She seemed to be a bit younger than Dean, maybe in her mid-twenties. She wore a short dark green dress that showed off her curvy ass quite perfectly.

"I suppose I could give him your number," Dean said, "I'm just not sure if he would know what to do with it."

"No need for that," she said, and sucked on her straw.

She was drinking a mojito.

"I'm Leah," she introduced herself.

"Uh, Leia," Dean replied, blurting out the first name that came to his mind.

_Seriously, Dean? She says Leah and you reply with Leia?!_

"Like the princess?" she asked.

"Yeah… my parents had a thing for _Star Wars_, you see. Real seventies kid."

"Well, I think the name suits you. It probably sounds cheesy, but you really have the eyes of a princess…"

"You think?" Dean replied, unsure where this was heading to.

"Yeah, you _totally_ look like a princess," she affirmed. "So, do you _have_ a boyfriend?"

"No," Dean said, a little irritated at the question.

Was it customary for women to talk about their relationships upon first meeting?

"Me neither," she said, not sounding sad about it. "You know, I like being single, going out to clubs…"

She leaned closer to Dean and even in the sticky atmosphere of the club he could smell her sweet smell.

"… and meet cuties like you."

Dean's heart began to beat faster. Did he interpret the signals right, or was he just seeing what he wanted to see? He looked at her in anticipation, forgetting to breathe. She was quite close; he could have counted her eye-lashes if he wanted to. He leaned closer as well, he was going to risk it; he would kiss her. What could go wrong? She might turn away, he might even get a slap in the face, but that wasn't too bad. Before he could advance with his plan however, Leah pulled away.

"I really need some fresh air, what about you?" she asked.

Dean nodded numbly.

They left the bar. They had to cross the dance floor to go to the exit. People were barring the way with their moving bodies and Dean was afraid to lose Leah in the crowd. She led the way and he quickly grabbed her hand.

The night air was chill on their faces, it smelled fresh. They leaned on the club's front, simply breathing. He was still holding Leah's hand. She didn't seem to mind. On the contrary – she looked down fondly on their intertwined fingers. Her eyes traveled upwards, to look into Dean's face, her eyes boring into him. Her second hand was tentatively wandering up his arm, as if she was not sure whether he would like it. He knew it would happen before it did: Leah leaned forward and kissed him.

A sweet kiss quickly turned into a heated one and Dean was pressed against the wall, while Leah tongued him, stumbling on her black high heels.

They paused to breathe, a triumphant grin on Leah's face.

"So, what do you say, Your Highness, should we retreat to my home planet?"

"Hell, yeah."

* * *

Leah's apartment was not far away. They had gone there quickly, eager to resume their frantic kissing. As soon as they were inside, their lips were locked again. Leah led them to the bedroom, without letting go of Dean.

In there, Dean was leaning against the uneven metal door. Leah was planting hot kisses on Dean's décolleté. She kissed his neck, her round breasts pressed to his body, while her hands caressed his sides. He could feel the heat return to his cheeks and blood flowing to his lower abdomen. As if Leah had sensed it, she came even closer, one of her legs sliding between his. Instinctively he thrust a little forward. He knew that if he still had a penis now, it would be hard as rock.

"Clothes off, Your Majesty," Leah said, her smirk returning.

Dean obeyed, curious what would happen next. He felt a little self-conscious, as he stripped, feeling Leah's eyes on him.

"You've got a tattoo," she stated, "Hot."

"Yeah, I know," Dean said, feeling encouraged.

Leah laughed. She turned around.

"Can you help me with the zipper?" she asked.

Dean happily did so. He kissed her neck, while pulling it down. Leah let the dress glide down to the floor, revealing beautiful dark red underwear. She kicked off her shoes in a playful manner.

Dean set to work on her bra, while she slid off her panties.

There they were, stark naked and aroused. Leah gently pushed him down the bed. She laid down next to him, her fingers playing with his hair. She looked beautiful. She had tan skin, her breasts soft under Dean's touch. Dean looked down to her lady parts. She had shaved or waxed or whatever women did to get rid of pubes. Dean wondered whether Leah minded that he hadn't.

"So, what do you like, Princess?" Leah asked.

"I… I don't know…"

It was absurd, he hadn't really thought about this. What could they do? Was she going to lick him, like the girls in the pay-per-view? Or use a dildo? Or fingering? He had tried it in a quiet moment, he hadn't liked it. In fact, he hadn't got off once since he turned female. He didn't have much of a chance to do it with Cas around all the time, but he had to admit, it wasn't that easy.

"Hem…" made Leah. "Have you ever been with a woman before?" she asked.

"Uh… not like _this_," Dean said.

He would've liked to explain it, but how could he without sounding like a complete nut job?

"That's alright. It's not the first time _I'm_ someone's first. It's okay. What do you enjoy with a man?"

"I'm not sure…" Dean said awkwardly.

So much for his sexual experience he prided himself with. He sounded like an utter virgin. It was like he had turned into Cas!

"Alright, I guess we have to figure it out together," Leah said, "Just relax, I'm gonna go easy on you."

And she did. She continued kissing Dean, starting with the mouth, going down to the collarbone; she kissed his nipples, but very gentle and then went on further down. All the time she was caressing Dean's hip and thighs. It felt like his vagina was glowing from the inside. He wanted her to do something about it.

Leah got a glove from the bedside table and some lubricant. She made a show out of putting the glove on and added some lube. Then she went on kissing him again. Dean closed his eyes, swimming in the feeling of her soft lips on his. Her fingers trailed down his vulva and even farther down. She touched a sensitive spot and Dean sighed. Her fingers glided over the lips and Dean realized he was wet.

Leah was exploring and circling and gliding and Dean sighed and panted. Leah was straddling over one of his legs, she was slowly thrusting, getting off from the friction all while working Dean. It didn't take long till Dean was close. He could feel it. An electrical feeling was spurting through his body. He dug his fingers into the sheets, moving with Leah, moving faster and there it was. An overwhelming fuzzy feeling, making him even more sensitive to Leah's touch. He moaned as it hit him and he could feel that Leah climaxed too, because shortly afterwards, she ceased her thrusts.

She clung to him and there they laid for a while, lost in post-coital bliss.

"That, Leah, was awesome," Dean said after a while.

"You think so?"

"Yes."

"Good."

After some time they dozed off and slept for a while.

Dean woke up at around half past four in the morning and quietly left for the bathroom. Peeing was still weird for him. It was so annoying to have to sit down every time and it could be quite disgusting if you had to do it on a gas station or in a greasy junk food joint.

When he came back, Leah was awake too. She enclosed him in her arms and they made out again.

**[Dean x OC part ends here]**

* * *

_Well, I could get used to that_, Dean thought after the second orgasm he had had that night.

Leah had gone back to sleep again. He could hear her soft breathing next to him. He however, couldn't sleep anymore. He recalled the events of the night. Castiel changing just to please him, Sam calling it a date… Maybe Cas had thought it was a date, after all. That could be why he got so upset when Dean wanted to leave him alone. Could Cas actually think that they were having a date? _I mean come on. Cas knows I'm not into men! Or manly angel friends, _Dean thought.

Had Cas been upset because he thought Dean was ditching him or was there more to it? Hell, had that been jealousy? Because Dean would rather have sex with someone else than spending time with him? Did _Cas _want to be the person he had sex with? He tried to imagine it, him and Cas in a bed at the motel; Cas taking off his clothes, clumsily and self-conscious. Or he would just magic them off. And he would kiss him, just the way Leah did, with his big soft lips on Dean's again.

No, what was he thinking! Cas didn't want to him sex with him! Dean didn't want to have sex with him. He just had sex with a beautiful lady. Period.

He would call Cas tomorrow, apologize and everything would be normal again.

* * *

**Thanks for reading it! This is the first time that I wrote smut and I have to admit that I'm not that experienced in the noble art of lesbian love-making, so please tell me whether I did a good job at it. If you have some ideas for improvement please tell me! I kinda really like Leah, but this story won't be about her.**

**Please tell me your opinion! You can also leave suggestions or wishes in the comments. See you all later in the next chapter!**


	6. F is for Finland

**Thank you all for following and favoriting this story! I am terribly sorry that I haven't been updating lately, but I got a bit lost and I didn't have much time for writing.**

**This chapter will be a bit different. Allietheepic7 requested/suggested I should write a chapter from Cas' POV and have him talk to a cupid. Well, here it is, but I'm not sure if I did a good job. I'm going to go back to the _main plot_ in the next chapter.**

* * *

The storm that made the conifers bow in the wind and the water splash on the stony beach was nothing against the storm that raged inside Castiel. It was him who had started the storm. As soon as he had been out of sight, he had zapped somewhere – anywhere, just away from Dean.

He hadn't thought where he was going. He hadn't cared. The smell of the fresh night air and the constellation of the hundreds of stars in the black sky above him told him that he was in Finland again, on the exact spot he had been, where he had been when he flew off to see Dean at that _Biggerson's_. He had been missing Dean that time. Somehow he had been acheing to go back, to see Dean again after their short time being separated. It was odd, but he figured that they were connected – saving Dean had been his mission. The last mission from God, really, and in that way, Dean was a link to his Father. But it was more than that. Being with the Winchesters had shown him _why_ humanity had to be protected. He could now understand his Father's love that was so strong, that he would even banish one of his favorite son's from Heaven. Yes, he could see it.

His sentiments had changed however. He was on the same spot, but he found himself in the exact opposite position. He had wanted to see Dean – now all he wanted was to be as far away from Dean as he could. The thought scared him.

He felt hurt, so vulnerable, like a kicked dog. There was ice and fire in him and he wondered how it could possibly be, because after all, this was just his vessel, and it wasn't supposed to respond to his sentiments.

He didn't realize that he was not alone, until a voice spoke to him. The voice was young and soft; it was not Finnish, but Enochian.

"What is the matter, brother?" it said.

Castiel turned around to see a little girl sitting on a bowlder, wearing a white dress and Wellington boots. The dress' fabric shone in the silver moonlight. Behind the innocent façade, Castiel could feel a mighty presence that made his true vessel tickle.

"You are a cupid," he stated.

The girl nodded, but it was not a girl anymore – he could see the cupid's true form now, glowing, vibrating, its four faces turned towards him, the wings folded in the back. He wondered why he hadn't seen it from the beginning.

"And you are a warrior," the cupid said.

The cupid stood up and walked towards him, hugging him at waist level. There was something soothing about the touch. Cupids, although of celestial origin, belonged to Earth – in a way, just like him. The cupid let go of him and it felt like it had taken something from him. It was knowledge. Touching a cupid meant that you gave them access to your feelings. Usually, angels had nothing to fear, for they were driven by purpose, not emotions. But Castiel _had _feelings and the cupid sensed it, too.

"You… those _feelings_ in you, brother" the cupid looked up to him in wonder, "they are… almost human."

Was that what it was like to be human? Confused? Pained? How did humans cope?

"It is because of Dean Winchester," the cupid stated knowingly. "You feel strongly for him."

There was no way Castiel could deny it. It was true, he felt like this because of Dean, because of what had happened earlier. He just didn't understand it. He felt betrayed but Dean hadn't betrayed him. He hadn't attempted to kill him, nor had he conspired with an enemy. No, he had simply been his usual self. He didn't understand it.

The cupid looked at him, a smirk on its vessel's face. It seemed almost smug and Cas was sure that it understood a lot better what was going on in him. It was crazy. Cupids were not exactly the most powerful kind of angels. And yet there the cupid was, talking as if it knew everything about Cas.

"How do you know all this?" he asked.

"I'm a cupid. We can sense emotions. That is our job," the cupid replied, "but I also know that you are Castiel, the angel who went to Hell and came back, the angel who rebelled for one human being…"

Castiel stared at the cupid. He had rebelled, because of Dean, _for_ Dean. But Dean was not just one human. Dean had made him fall in love with humanity. He was _the_ human; he stood out, like a diamond in a pile of coal.

"Oh, I know. I was part of the team who made his existence possible," the cupid said with a chuckle.

"What?" Castiel asked, confused.

"I was part of the team of cupids that fixed up Mary and John," the cupid explained, "That was a hard piece of work. But the result… seems like it was worth it."

"Yes," Castiel heard himself reply.

He looked at the waves, so chaotic, yet so beautiful. It was him who had caused the storm, just like Dean had caused the storm in him. He stepped closer at the water, as if he tried to find an explanation about his emotions in the unpredictable patterns of the waves.

"So, what are you going to do about it?" the cupid asked.

It had followed him to the shore and was now wading into the water, standing between Cas and the waves.

"Do about it?" Castiel repeated, not understanding.

The other angel sighed.

"Okay, Castiel. Short version. What you're feeling is a classical _chagrin d'amour_. You feel jealousy, because he has chosen to be intimate with a stranger, rather than with you. You have become infatuated with your mission: Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, the Diamond."

Castiel listened intently. The words sounded strange, yet it fit. He couldn't say anything, it was as if his tongue had been glued to his palate. The cupid continued.

"He is your best friend and you are his. You've never realized how special you are to him, have you? Dean Winchester never had a best friend. He had his brother – most of the time and now he has you and he doesn't know how to act, because it is new to him as well. You are a miracle to him, Castiel. Dean Winchester didn't believe in angels and he didn't believe in love. But you proved him wrong. This bond isn't one-sided, Castiel. That's not how it works. You chose to follow him and now there's no turning back."

The storm was getting wilder anew, the branches of the conifers creaking and the water wetting the seam of the girl's dress.

"Love between angels and humans is rare, Castiel, but it has happened before…"

"It can't be," Castiel said, although deep inside he knew it could. In fact, it was.

"You spent so much time with him lately," the cupid said, "Why?"

The cupid was right. He was infatuated with Dean and that's why he wanted be with him. He wanted more of this delicious humanity, these feelings, the storm. _But what am I supposed to do?_ Castiel thought desperately.

"You are not human," the cupid said, "There's nothing I can do for you. Ironically, you have to try your best and _be_ human."

* * *

**Maybe I overdid this whole storm-metaphore-thingy. And I kinda trailed off at some points. Also, sorry for all the angst. Next chapter is going to be a bit more humorous, I hope.**

**Anyway, please tell me what you think. If you have any ideas how I shall proceed, pray tell. Thou shalt be heard. Uh, yeah. Hasta luego.**


	7. G is for gay

**Hey guys. Yes, I'm still alive. I'm sorry that it took so long (again). I hope you will like this chapter. It's kind of a songfic in some parts. Lots of feelsy stuff in here. I think I might have to change the genre from humor to drama or something. So, here we go.**

* * *

It was familiar. Too familiar, actually. Carefully getting up to not wake her up, to quietly grab your clothes, double-checking for phone and keys, getting dressed, sneaking out... _Adiós._

It was early. The sun had just risen and only few people were out on the streets. It was chill. The smell of fall was in the air, and he crossed his bare arms under his breasts in hope of keeping them warm that way.

There was a businessman crossing the road, a coffee in one hand, a cell phone in the other. He was wearing a tan trench coat, just like Cas. _Cas_. Dean sighed.

As soon as he was sitting in the Impala, he turned up the heating. The soft rattling sound of the Legos he had crammed in there all those years ago made him smile. Yes, this was home. The Impala, Sam and Cas. They were familiar. But Cas was acting differently towards him. It was not only his recent pissed-off-ness. He asked more questions about Dean, not the hunter, but the person. Their relationship had become less professional. Before they had always hunted together; tried to clean up the big ol' mess that was this world. But now they had been killing time instead of monsters. You are different around people when you lie on a couch, without a gun on your belt or a machete in your hand. He wasn't sure how to feel about this change of their relationship. Apparently Cas thought that he being friends meant to hang around all the time.

* * *

Sam was not yet up, when Dean arrived at the Bunker. He sneaked up to his room, stripped off his clothes and laid down on his bed again. It felt surprisingly relaxing to not wear a bra. He had gotten used to the feeling of his boobs being held in place – at least most of the time – but it was always nice to take it off. He covered himself with a soft blanket and switched off the lights. He blindly grabbed his old Walkman from the bedside table, plugged the earphones in. The music started mid-song.

_I believe in miracles_

_Since you came along, you sexy thing_

That song was not exactly one of his favorites, but he listened to it anyway. It was on one of the really old tapes that just wouldn't break. _Best of '75 _it said on the case in John's capital handwriting. Dean kept a whole stack of these in his room, much to Sam's amusement. He couldn't bring himself to through them away. The tapes had belonged to John and once upon a time they had been sitting in a shelf in their old house in Lawrence and maybe Mary had picked one up, looking for a particular track. Maybe they had even been listening to this song all together once, with Dean sitting on Mary's lap, bouncing excitedly to the tune.

_Where did you come from, baby?_

_How did you know I needed you?_

_How did you know I needed you so badly?_

_How did you know I'd give my heart gladly?_

_Yesterday, I was one of the lonely people,_

_Now you're lying close to me, making love to me_

Most of the tapes contained rock music. It had been John's favorite genre and Dean had grown up listening to it. The music evoked memories, not all of them pleasant. But he could relate to the songs. Songs about the road, the ever-changing life of restless men. Songs about yearning and being homesick for a place that didn't exist. Sure, love was also a reoccurring theme, but seldom in its romantic aspect. He liked that. Romance was strange to him. During his adulthood, he had only once felt romantically attracted to someone. It had been Lisa, but that feeling was never quite consistent. It had constantly been challenged by his itch to just be on the move. _Lord, I was born a rambling man. _Yeah, this was Dean.

The song he was just listening to was describing a different kind of relationship. Sweet love, marvel in the face of the lover and need. He had never needed someone so badly. Yes, he was lonely. He hated to admit it, but it was true. No one was making love to him. There was only the dull feeling that always settled in your heart when you had to close the door, knowing that you would never see her again.

The chorus started afresh. They sang about miracles. What did they know about miracles? Dean had seen so many miracles, that for him they were none anymore. He'd encountered fairies and djinns and ghosts – there was Heaven and there was Hell. Everything was possible. He had been to hell. He had come back. That had been a miracle. That, despite of his doubts, there was something _good_ in this world. Castiel had saved him. He had brought him back to life. He had been dead inside, like a field after harvest with winter drawing near, but Cas had shown him that deep down, there were the seeds to new life. And whenever the angel was close, he could feel them growing.

_Where did you come from, angel?_

_How did you know I'd be the one?_

_Did you know, you're everything I prayed for?_

_Did you know, every night and day for?_

_Every day, needing love as satisfaction_

_Now you're lying close to me, making love to me_

He switched off the Walkman.

"Cas?" he whispered into the darkness.

His voice sounded hoarse.

"Cas, you hear me?"

No response. He rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow.

* * *

He found Sam sitting in the library, surfing the web. When he saw Dean, he closed his laptop.

"You're awake," he stated.

"Yeah."

"It's 4pm, man," Sam said, "What the fuck did you do last night to knock you out like this? I was just going to check on you, thought the spell might have kicked in again…"

"Well, if you really want to know what I did last night…" Dean said, sipping at his coffee, "I had some really great sex."

Sam's reaction was odd. He simply stared at Dean for a while. Then he opened his mouth, but it took some time, till he finally said something.

"Uh, okay. Yeah, okay. Guess that was bound to happen sooner or later…" he stammered.

Dean stared back at him. So, he had had sex. That was not exactly something new. Sam had said it himself; he knew more about Dean's sex life than he appreciated. And what did he mean with that, _it was bound to happen_?

"Uh, what?"

"Hey, it's fine. Believe me, I'm cool with it. Not that you need my approval or anything, but I mean I support you and stuff. I was just not expecting you to be so frank about it, that's all. I'm glad you've overcome your internal struggle and that you finally found the courage to act according to your feelings."

Dean was even more confused. He had no idea what his brother was talking about.

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"You and Cas?" Sam said, looking at Dean expectantly.

"What?"

"I'm cool with the two of you being together – or having sex, or whatever."

"_I was not having sex with Cas!_" Dean said taken aback, "What makes you think that?"

"Um, you went out together, and I didn't see you come back and… well, I guess I just jumped to conclusions…"

Dean couldn't believe his ears. Did Sam seriously think that he would fuck Cas?

"Dude, I'm straight," Dean clarified.

"Yeah, if that makes you sleep at night…" Sam muttered, before clearing his throat. "So, where is Cas then, if he's not lying in your bed?"

"I've no idea," Dean said, hoping to sound as if he didn't care.

"But you left together, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah," Dean started.

Sam had put on his standard bitchface, as if he knew that Dean had fucked up. _Again_.

"But he got pissed off and left, 'kay?" Dean said, sounding defensive.

* * *

"I'm going to give Baby a wash," Dean announced.

"Really?" Sam asked in disbelief.

He had been doing push-ups in his room, while listening to some gruesome chick music.

"Yeah, really," Dean said.

What else was he supposed to do? He was bored to death. He had taken a shower, reorganized his cassette tapes (_Best of '75_ was now all the way in the back) and polished the handcuffs in their dungeon. Cas was not around to annoy him with lectures about Enochian.

He fished the keys from the cupboard in Sam's room and left for the garage.

He drove to a gas station and bought cleaning supplies. He washed his beloved Impala very seldom. In fact, she had probably been rebuilt more often than that. Well, she could need a wash that was beyond doubt. A thin layer of dust covered the black finish and specks of dirt were around the tires.

He dipped a rag in a bucket of lukewarm soapy water and started scrubbing the left side. Sure, he could have gotten a professional car wash but he liked to work with his hands. It was surprisingly nice. The last few days had been rather crisp but now the sun was shining brightly, its light outweighing the breeze that made the leaves fall from the trees. He had turned on the radio to a random station. It seemed to be an eighties themed program but Dean didn't really care. The music was just background.

The gas stop was not heavily frequented. Two truckers were standing a few yards away, having a smoke and a chat. Dean didn't pay attention to them. He was too preoccupied with cleaning the headlights. There was a crack in one of them. He might have to replace it soon. He wrung out the rag and let it soak full of water again. He bent over the hood to clean it all. He had to stretch to reach the part where it turned into the window.

His neck was prickling, his hunter instincts kicking in; someone was staring at him. He turned his head to see who it was. It was the truckers. Smug grins on their faces. Now they were jeering.

"Yeah, show us that sweet ass, hun!" one of them called.

Dean turned around and flipped them off.

They both laughed.

"Come on," the other one said, "That was quite a show. No need to stop now. Come on, how about a lil' _wet t-shirt contest_, huh?"

A show? Cleaning his fucking car was a show?! It was not as if he had been cleaning it dressed in a bikini only with wet hair and sexy music in the background. This was no fucking porn, this was real life. And in real life washing your car was about as sexy as taking the trash out. It was nothing to gawk at. _He _was nothing to gawk at.

Dean dropped his rag into the bucket and picked it up. Slowly he walked up to the truckers, who seemed amused still and quite unafraid. When Dean was only a yard away from them, he stopped and with one swift movement, he poured the dirty water at them. The water knocked off one of their caps, their faces were hit and t-shirts wetted. Dean forced a smile.

"Have fun with your wet t-shirts," he said dead serious.

He left them behind, wet and shocked. He went inside his half-washed car, started the engine. He felt angry. Not angry, but absolutely furious. And at the same time, he could feel tears coming to his eyes. He blinked them away. Why was he crying? He felt like shit. Those guys were only the top of the iceberg. The radio was still playing, a joyous tune and vocals by a woman.

_No one on Earth could feel like this_

_I'm thrown and overflown with bliss_

_There must be an angel_

_Playing with my heart, yeah_

"Cas?" Dean asked again over the sound of the music.

_Cas, come on you whiny sucker. Talk to me._ But there was no reply. Nothing. No rustling of wings, no gravelly "Hello, Dean". Just an empty seat beside him and Eurythmics in his ears.

* * *

**The songs mentioned in this chapter are "You Sexy Thing (Miracles)" by Hot Chocolate, "Ramblin' Man" by the Allman Brothers Band and "There Must Be An Angel (Playing With My Heart)" by Eurythmics. The first two songs actually appear on the show and the latter one I heard a couple days ago on the radio, so that got me inspired.**

**I hope you liked this chapter. Please tell me what you think. In the next chapter Dean will get wasted - and we'll find out why he's acting so_ emotional._..**


	8. H is for heartbreak

**Alright, I know it's been ages, but I had a small life crisis involving tea mugs and I walked past Catherine Tate, but hey I'm back again. Also I'm pumped up for season 10 although they missed out the opportunity to Destiel again (as it seems) - but the promo snippet inspired some parts of this (Karaoke *hint hint*). I hope you'll like it. Again it will include a original character and I really like him. Shouldn't make them so nice all the time. Well. Have fun.**

* * *

After his fifth bowl of peanuts – he was starving – and a considerably higher amount of shots, Dean was singing. Or to be precise, he was trying to. He had never been the best singer exactly and he didn't have full control over his female voice either. Also, he was drunk. He had been drinking too much, but not even the liquor burning its way through his gullet could cover the fact that he was feeling cold from the inside.

There was a small stage in the Karaoke bar and people were gathered around. The audience mainly consisted of elderly people, with a few younger ones here and there. It was not exactly the kind of place Dean usually frequented, but it had been the closest. He had started drinking, pissed because he was in this shitty situation and there was nothing he could do about it. It was so much worse than he had expected. He had thought that the worst of all would be Sam's taunting. Well, he had been wrong. All while he finished the drinks, he shot the guys in the bar wary looks. He expected someone to come up to him and say something inappropriate to him. He hadn't even tried to flirt with the attractive bartender showing cleavage.

He didn't know why he was doing this. Some invisible forced had ushered him to go up there and grab the microphone moisturized by his predecessors.

"_All by myse-he-helf, all by myse-he-helf, don't wanna be…_!" he sang, his voice cracking.

He had called for Cas a couple times. He wanted to set this straight. Hell, he would even apologize. If that meant that Cas would speak with him again, he would do it. Anything but this fucking silence. Cas was his _best friend_ and he _needed_ him. Needed him in this fuckthing of a world where one could be cursed by a witch or killed by a werewolf or whatnot. He needed his angel by his side. He had called him again in the car and in the restroom, but no reply.

Sam had left several messages on his phone, getting more worried each time. Finally Dean had replied, that he was fine, which, of course was a lie. But when had been the last time the two of them had been honest about that with each other? He didn't want him to be worried about him. But of course Sam was worried. _I'm just glad you overcame your internal struggle_, he had said. What _internal struggle_?!

"_All by myself, anymore…_"

The crowd cheered, but he didn't feel good. The outro was not over yet, when he carelessly dropped the microphone and returned to the bar, sulking.

"'nother one, please," Dean mumbled and the barkeeper complied.

Next in line for karaoke was a group of friends, probably college students. They were all giggling and holding onto each other while they tried to keep up with the fast pace of the Spice Girls' "Wannabe". Dean had never had that. A clique, people who knew him better than he did, people he could just hang around with, watching TV and eating pizza. He had made some friends on the way but eventually they left him. He didn't blame them. He really didn't. Mostly he blamed himself. He was poison. Knowing him was lethal and those sensible enough to feel that had backed off. He didn't blame them. They were better off without him.

Now Cas had left him too. Cas, of all people. And he was drinking and drinking and drinking to hide the truth from himself: He cared.

Where would he be if it hadn't been for Cas? In hell, tortured and beaten, torturing and beating. Cas had saved him. He had done it over and over again. _Maybe he's tired of saving me_, Dean thought, _maybe he finally sees it. That I'm not worth saving. That I never was and that all the things he's been through are ultimately my fault._

The friends left the stage, bright smiles on their faces, their eyes shining and he wondered how they could smile so much when there were wars on Earth, a war in Heaven and a war in his heart. They sat down on a table close to Dean, three guys and two girls. One guy had an arm around one of the girls' shoulder and they were laughing, almost like Dean and Cas had when they had been thrown out of the brothel. It felt like it was a century ago. It had been an awful situation – they had been facing death – but Cas had managed to make him feel good. Simply by being his awkward self.

Tears were in Dean's eyes again, when he thought of that night. It was ridiculous. It was a happy memory and he was crying. In fact, he was sobbing.

A couple hours later (the peanuts were sold out), the bar was almost empty. An old man was singing country songs, but no one really listened. The barkeeper polished beer glasses, a bored look on her face.

Dean had paid his drinks, using a credit card with the name Donald Stettson Sr on it. He staggered outside, supporting himself on the row of bar stools.

The night sky was pitch-black. He searched his handbag for the Impala's keys. How did women manage to find anything in there? It was lika a laby- laybe- lobby- a maze. A goddamn maze.

He was still looking for the keys when he crossed the parking lot which was not bituminized. It was an uneven ground. He stepped into a small hole and tripped. He fell, his face hitting hard on the broken rocks. He cried out it pain, his bag slipping from his grip.

He could hear hurried footsteps.

"You okay?" someone asked.

"I jus' wanna go home," Dean wailed.

A hand helped him sit up. He looked up and in the blue light of the sign saying _Kansas Karaoke Kingdom_ he could see it was one of the college guys. He was lean, with big concerned eyes and a cigarette butt in his hand. He was not the guy who had seemed to be together with the girl. No, he had been the one who had held the mic.

Dean fetched his bag that laid a little aside. The keys had fallen out. Well, that was something. He snuffled and struggled to get up. Swaying a little, he put the keys in the lock.

"Wowowow," the guy said, holding Dean's arm. "You wanna drive? You're drunk as fuck."

"So?" Dean said carelessly, turning around to him.

"So, you wanna die in a car crash or something?"

"I'll come back to life _anyway_," Dean replied, shrugging.

It was true, wasn't it? When had he really died for good?

"Yeah, I'm sure, but let's not risk it," the young man said, leading Dean away from the car.

He made him sit down on a bench and stubbed out his cigarette.

"I can call you a cab," he offered, "Just tell me where you live."

"In a secret bunker," Dean said, "I call it _The_ _Batcave_."

"Shit, man, you really had a lot," he stated, chuckling.

Dean oppressed a burp and nodded, but he didn't say anything. After a while he asked: "So, that's your car?"

"'S is my dad's."

"You got family here? Anyone I can call?"

"Just my lil' brother Sam. Well, actually he's giant, you know. And Cas."

"Who's Cas?"

"He's an angel," Dean replied truthfully, his voice somber.

"Yeah, I bet. Shall we call him then?"

"He's not replying."

The guy nodded knowingly.

"Lemme guess, you're here tonight, drinking, because of him."

Dean didn't say a thing. He just looked at the guy, wondering how a stranger could possibly know. He didn't know it himself after all. Yes, he was drinking because of some _guy_. He was yearning for the presence of another man. That was gay as fuck, wasn't it? Yet here he was, sitting with even another on and he had to admit it, he was handsome. He had a young face and wore a baseball cap over light brown corkscrew curls. His eyes were fixed on Dean and those eyes made Dean gulp. They were blue. Not that kind of blue, but still.

"You know, if a guy makes you want to get wasted, he's probably not an angel."

"It's not his fault. S'is all my fault," Dean mumbled, "… all my fault."

"Hey, it's alright," the guy said and put an arm around Dean's shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "It's alright," he said over Dean's sobs.

Dean knew that it wasn't true, so he sobbed even more. He was drawn closer and he huddled against this stranger, his need for comfort bigger than his hunter instincts to never trust anyone. He didn't seem to mind, holding him and fixing a strand of hair that had fallen across Dean's face. "Ssshh," he made, "'s alright."

His warmth was comforting and he closed his eyes. He wished that the hand on his back was another hand and that it was another heart that he could hear beating in the chest beside him. He wished that someone else was embracing him and saying it was alright and _I forgive you_. _I love you._

His helper was stroking his hair, gently rocking him like a baby. Dean adjusted his head so he was looking up into those pretty eyes that reminded him so much of someone else. He knew those weren't the right eyes, but he could pretend.

"You've got so pretty eyes, baby," he mumbled. "So, so, pretty, Cas…"

Dean softly detached himself from not-Cas, just to lean forward and press his lips onto his. He seemed surprised, but not appalled. His mouth opened ever so slightly to give Dean a better access. Dean inched closer. He stared into those blue eyes but they fluttered shut. Dean moved cautiously, somewhat climbing his lap. The guy sighed in the kiss. Encouraged, Dean let his tongue glide into his mouth.

This seemed to startle the guy and he pulled back, slowly but firmly.

"Wha's wrong?" Dean asked.

"Hey, we both know it's not me you want. I'm not him."

Dean looked at him and it was true. He was not Cas, but it was Cas that he wanted. He had realized this just now.

* * *

What he noticed first was the smell. It was not unpleasant. It reminded him of flowers. Now, he was used to waking up in unfamiliar places – motel rooms they only had for the night and such.

Yet, this didn't seem to be a motel room. He gathered that much from the brightness of light that he was met with when he opened his eyes, and the soft feeling of the blanket on top of him. He slowly got up, alert. Where was he? He realized that he was in his underwear, his pants and top lying beside the bed. It was a small room, but it had a large window. There were some music magazines stacked beside a small wardrobe. Facing him was an open door. And he could hear some faint music and a sizzling sound.

He got up, grabbed his pants and put them on. His handbag was there too. He took it in one hand. It might serve him as an improvised weapon, something he could throw at an attacker if it was necessary.

He came through the door and found himself in a kitchen slash living room. In front of the stove stood a young man with light brown corkscrews and pajama pants, frying eggs and bacon.

"Hiya," he said cheerfully, turning around. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," Dean said automatically.

He remembered him. The parking lot. The kissing. He just didn't remember what had happened next.

"You sure? What about your head?"

Now that he had mentioned it, he suddenly felt a throbbing pain in his head. He reached for his temple, massaging one side, while still clutching his handbag in the other hand.

"Ouch," he mumbled.

"I can get you an Aspirin," the cook said, "Do you want some of this? Or are you a vegetarian?"

"Definitely not vegetarian and Aspirin would be great," Dean said.

He watched the man disappear through another door. His pajama pants were hanging loosely on his hipbones and he was wearing no shirt. Dean caught himself staring. He had a nice body – not exactly male model potential, he was simply not trained enough for that, but his broad shoulders… It was kind of hot. _I'm attracted to a guy!_, Dean thought, _and I kissed him – thinking of another guy_._ And, apparently, I followed him to his place. Where I wake up nearly naked._ _Did I…? _It was impossible, wasn't it? He was Dean Winchester after all. Dean who had always dug chicks. He was heterosexuality in person. He'd lost track of how many women he had sex with. He _loved_ women. He loved the curves, the softness of their bodies and their sweet mouths. It had always been like that. Maybe it was all because he was now a female. _That's not true and you know it_, a small voice said in his paining head and it sounded a bit like an annoyed Sam. _Admit it, you always checked out the other guys after P.E. classes. That time in Alabama where Dad dropped you off with Sammy for three weeks and you and this Finn kid got drunk and he kissed you? You were kissing him back and you could remember, even though you said otherwise. You watched Yaoi and you liked it. You check out random guys' butts, just cause, because it doesn't mean anything, right? Well, it does. You think about Doctor Sexy when you're in the shower. You think about him slamming you against that wall in the elevator, kissing you roughly. And you thought about Cas. About how great he looked in pants and shirt only and about how great he would look without them. You thought about that goddamn kiss you gave him, like kisses suddenly mean something to you. You think about that kiss every time you see those lips. You think about him, even when you kiss another guy. Hell, you kissed a dude. How is that straight? You are lying to yourself. That is what this is. You've done it for a while._

He jumped when the guy returned to the kitchen. He beckoned Dean to sit down on the small table and put a glass of water and a box of painkillers in front of him. He had put on a t-shirt and Dean silently thanked him.

"Thanks, uhhh…" he made.

"It's Nicholas," the man offered.

"Deanna," Dean replied. "Listen, Nicholas, what exactly happened last night?"

"Well, you were singing Céline Dion, drank a lot of alcohol and faceplanted in the parking lot," Nicholas said, placing a plate with breakfast in front of Dean and joining him on the table.

"That's not what I -"

"- meant, I know. No, we didn't have sex."

Dean nodded.

"I pitied you a little and I wanted to make sure that you survived the night, alright?" Nicholas said, shrugging.

He stared a little into space and then said quietly: "Someone once took advantage of my sister being drunk."

Dean gave him a thankful smile, before he downed the Aspirin.

"It's not that I would not have sex with you, though," Nicholas said, without looking directly at Dean, "You're really attractive."

"Uh, thanks," Dean replied, "Same, I guess. But, you know…"

"There's him. Yes, I understand."

* * *

He left half an hour later, his head a little better and with Nicholas' number.

His cell rang, just when he had reached the Impala, which was still parked in front of _Kansas Karaoke Kingdom_. It had been a twenty minutes' walk and Dean was happy that he could sit and lean back. He started the engine and grabbed for his cell phone.

"Hello?" he said, when he answered the phone.

"Dean?! Where the fuck are you?!" Sam said.

"On my way home," Dean replied.

"I've been trying to reach you since yesterday. Where the hell have you been?"

"God, Sammy, chill, alright? I was pissed because some macho dudes were being assholes so I went drinking and stayed at someone else's place."

"And you couldn't have told me in a text or something? You said you were going to wash the car and then you just didn't come back!"

"Calm, down. I'm not a baby, I can look after myself!"

"Oh, can you?! Because the last time I checked, Cas had to save your ass!"

Dean didn't reply. It was true, of course.

"And now he's gone for a couple days and all you do is sulk. Cas is a thousand years old and a fucking angel, Dean, _he_ can look after himself. And you know, I get it right? You like him a lot and you're best buddies, but you can't expect him to hang around all the time. He's got other things to do. So, stop acting like some whiny _bitch_ whose crush has dumped her."

"Well, you may not have noticed, but I _am_ a fucking bitch, alright, and if you don't like that then you can shove it!" was Dean's witty reply.

"That's not my point, Dean! Just come home, alright, I need the car."

* * *

Instead of announcing his arrival, Dean went straight to the basement room they used to practice their shooting. He took a gun with him, carefully loaded it and released the safety. He aimed and shot and like usually, his rage helped him focus. He shot the figure at the back of the room in its chest, three times in a row.

He could hear the faint roar of Sam starting the Impala. He was angry. Angry at Sam (_How did he dare calling me a bitch?!), _angry at Cas (_Why is that fucker not answering my prayers?!_) and at himself (_I am gay - what the fuck?!)_ He still had to wrap his head around it. He liked other men. It was so clear to him now and he couldn't understand how he didn't see it before. Yet, it felt strange to admit it. He had been involved with girls intimately since he had been sixteen. It was such a huge part of him. He prided himself with being able to have every lady he wanted. His father had always encouraged this behavior. He had been very strict, but when it was clear that Dean was hooking up with a girl, he had never said a thing against it. Dean had found John's porn magazines when he was fourteen and John was bound to know, but he didn't say a thing. In his opinion, in order to be a man, you had to be good with the girls. John was not even strictly homophobic. Well, at least he didn't consider himself to be. He didn't care what other people did. But in his eyes being with another man did make you lose part of your masculinity. Dean had grown up with those ideas and although he was a bit more open himself, those ideas were still in his head. He had always tried to be tough. He had had to. He had wanted his father to see that he was and to have him trust him. So talking about it when he had kissed a boy and it somehow felt good hadn't been an option.

But there was no use in pondering about what his dead, shitty father would think about him now, was there? The question was, how did he himself felt about it and what would he do with that knowledge of himself? Maybe it _was_ time to visit Purgatory in Florida.

* * *

After sometime Dean ascended to the big hall, which they considered their living room. Sam was still out. His head was hurting like hell – the gun shots didn't really help. Also, his pain seemed to have spread to his lower abdomen as well. He decided that it might be best to just lie down and spend the day in bed.

He woke up three hours after he went to bed, because of hot pain, and an uncomfortable wet feeling in his pajama pants…

* * *

**The song Dean was singing is "All by myself" by Céline Dion. If you watched "Bridget Jones' Diary" than you know how Dean sounded. I formally apologize for Dean's ignorance of the concept of bisexuality. He will get there eventually. You all know what's happening to Dean and for me it's nearly that time of the month as well (woah, oversharing) so I'm looking for some inspiration for the next chapter then. Got some plans. Anyhow, if you have any suggestions or remarks, go and write a review. If not, just tell me whether you liked it. Did you like all the unnecessary manpain? You did? Good :) I see forward to hear from you. xx**


	9. I is for I'm a unicorn

**This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I decided I didn't want to keep you waiting. So here it is, and there's more to follow soon. I feel terribly sorry that it took so long but a) I should have been writing for my writing class b) need to finish "Game of Thrones" before I have to return it to the library c) have to work, duh and d) the Muse just wants to be friends.**

**Anyway, I hope you'll like it. *Warning*: contains graphic descriptions of menstruation (gah!)**

* * *

At first he thought he had had a wet dream – although he couldn't remember anything of the like. Then he remembered that he was not a guy anymore. His next thought was that he had wet himself in his sleep, which was even more embarrassing. None of that could explain this white, hot pain, however.

It was when he had reached the toilet and saw the large, brownish stain in his panties that the penny dropped. It was blood. And it wasn't from any external wound.

"Holy… _shit_," Dean breathed.

Slightly panicky Dean rolled toilet paper and stuffed it in his underwear. When he wiped himself clean after his morning piss, there was blood on the paper; this time a bright scarlet. His urine reminded him of the Darjeeling tea that Sam sometimes drank. It was all rather alarming.

He took the toilet roll with him in his room, changing into a fresh pair of panties laid out with a generous amount of toilet paper. He felt a little like a kid who hadn't made it to the restroom in time and in consequence mommy had to save the day. He put on Charlie's old sweatpants and hoped that she wouldn't mind.

He searched his bedside cabinet for painkillers and downed two of them at once. Then he crawled up on his bed. He couldn't believe it. _A period. I'm on a fucking period!_ He impatiently waited for the painkillers to kick in, but somehow they didn't seem to work. The dull pain went on and on. It was just above his hip bones, a steady ache, as if a branding iron was pressed against his abdominal wall from the inside.

Then there was a sudden cramp.

"Cas?!" he whimpered, "CAS!"

_Seriously? Is that what I have become? A whiny baby who calls out for Cas whenever it is hurt?! _But he didn't care. He just wanted him to make it stop. His shouts alarmed Sam, who had been in his own room on the corridor and he stormed into the room.

"Dean, are you alright? What's the matter?!" he asked worriedly.

Dean was unable to reply. He clenched his teeth.

"Is it some side-effect of the spell?"

"Kinda," Dean groaned.

"After all this time -"

There was a whooshing sound.

"Dean," Castiel said, "you're in pain."

Relief washed over Dean when he saw the angel's familiar face. He had come. He was going to make it okay.

In no time Cas was by his side and quickly examining him. Dean fleetly noticed that Cas was not in his trench coat but he was too preoccupied by his aching abdomen to see what he was wearing instead.

"What is it, Cas?" Sam wanted to know, sounding nervous.

"It appears that Dean is menstruating," Castiel said flatly after a moment of consideration.

"He is _what_?"

"Menstruating," Castiel repeated patiently, "His uterus is regenerating the endometrium."

"And it _hurts_!" Dean hissed.

He had gotten up and paced up and down his room, in a bowing position. "God, I wanna throw myself of A CLIFF!"

"Dean, don't be overly dramatic," Sam said, bitchfacing, "I'm sure it's-"

"I am not being overly dramatic!" Dean shouted, "Why does it hurt _so much_?!"

"Your muscles are contracting," Castiel explained calmly.

So what? _Your muscles are contracting._ Muscles were contracting all the time, weren't they? Now that Sam knew that there was 'nothing wrong' with him, he was totally relaxed. Dean was somehow angry at how calm his brother and friend were. Couldn't they see he was suffering unbearable pain?!

"Did you take painkillers?" Sam inquired.

"The strongest we own legally," Dean answered, massaging his stomach.

"To ease the pain you need to relax your muscles," Cas informed him, "Sometimes applying warmth or pressure to certain points causes feels good. Another way to achieve relief is through orgasm. If you let me, I might be able to help you."

"You what?!" Sam and Dean said in unison and for a moment Dean forgot his agony. Sex. Cas was suggesting sex. To help him with period cramps. _Sex_. Actual sex. _Cas. _He stared at Castiel, who was looking innocent. Alright, maybe Dean hadn't been wrong at all when he thought that Cas thought there was something going on that was more than friendship. Maybe Cas' reaction at the club really had been jealousy and he did, in fact, felt attraction toward him. Dean's mouth went dry. So, Cas wanted him. Well, in _that way_, that is. He was probably just curious, wanted to try sex to see why humans liked it so much. That would be so like Cas. Because there was no way that Cas was actually having a crush on Dean, was there? But what if? What would that mean for them?

Dean had decided to stop lying to himself. He was not straight. He was… attracted to women. And men. Yes, there _was_ a word for it but he had never thought that it would apply for him. It just sounded so strange in his head. 'Bisexual'. Bisexuals were like unicorns to him: there was a not too small chance that they existed, but he had never believed in them. He didn't have to until he faced them. It had been the same with angels; but angels did exist and he was a fucking unicorn.

He was bisexual and Cas seemed to want to get in his pants. What was he supposed to do? Embrace the rainbow? But what, if it really was just Cas being curious or Cas just wanting to help his best friend because he didn't understand that this was a taboo, that _just-friends_ did not do that, not ever.

"W-what?" Dean muttered again, as if he hadn't heard him properly.

Cas' head was tilted in confusion. He looked from one Winchester to the other, unable to comprehend their reaction. Then he shook his head in sudden realization. Now it was Dean who was confused. Why was he shaking his head like that?

"I was not suggesting we should partake in sexual interactions -" Castiel said.

Oh. It was all a misunderstanding. Of course it was. Why should Cas suddenly turn all Janet Weiss on him and start wanting the, uh, _v_?

"_Although_," Cas continued and Dean inhaled sharply, "it _is_ a simple way of eliminating the tension in your muscles and the oxytocin that is released into your bloodstream at your climax will function as a natural analgesic."

"So… uh, what do we do?" he asked nervously.

He was not sure what he wanted really. Did he even want Cas to fuck him? He was not himself after all and although he had had sex with Leah, this was something different, because this was not a meaningless one-night-stand. They wouldn't – hell, they _couldn't_ – part ways afterwards. Apart from that he felt ashamed. He was there with a shitton of toilet paper stuffed into his underwear and crying out in pain. He didn't think that was exactly the sexiest state he had ever been in.

Still, the thought of sex was intriguing and hearing Cas talk about it, even though it sounded more like a biology lecture, was kind of arousing. He wondered how Cas would sound like if he really dirty talked. _Today you're my little bitch_, he recalled. Uh-oh.

He still stared at Cas, paralyzed. What was going to say?

"I might be able to use my grace to ease the pain," Cas suggested. "If that's alright with you," he added.

"Alright," Dean said.

Was he disappointed? Relieved? No, he was rather tense and that pain hadn't stopped either. _We wouldn't have this conversation if it had,_ he reminded himself. _This is about your fucking period and not your feelings about Cas._

"Good. Sit over here," Cas ordered.

Dean obeyed, leaning his back against the bed-head. Castiel sat down next to him. He lifted Dean's shirt, his fingers brushing over the naked, heated skin above the waistband of his pants. Dean shivered. This was rather intimate. Cas hand started to gleam blueishly. The relief was immediate. Somehow he could feel the grace flowing through him. It seemed to have a cooling effect, which felt heavenly after that burning ache. Dean sighed. Castiel looked at him expectantly. He gave him a small nod.

Cas slightly moved his hand, gently massaging the area. He was turned toward Dean and Dean didn't dare looking at him. Castiel was so close. Even closer than usual and that meant a lot considering his personal space issues.

It made him a little nervous. He was wondering what Cas was thinking now and whether he knew, what _he_ had been thinking only a minute ago. Cas had always been fairly good at reading him. It seemed to be an angel thing. It probably was connected to his ability to hear prayers, so Dean always tried not to think too loudly. Which was an impossible task.

He hoped Cas couldn't hear what he was thinking right now. He was so conscious of that hand, so far down south that it would be easy for Cas to _touch_ him. Cas' eyes were still on Dean. Dean knew these eyes so well. Blue was simply Cas' color. Blue were his tie, his eyes, his grace. He felt like he couldn't look directly at him and that was something new as well. Sam had often teased him about the lingering gazes the two of them shared. Dean had never considered that to be a romantic gesture or anything. It was just nonverbal communication. But maybe was Sam right, like always. Dean really liked those eyes, yet now he feared that by looking into them, Cas would know the truth.

He would know that Dean was feeling something for him. He wasn't sure how Cas would react. Was it even possible for him to reciprocate those feelings? Maybe Cas would even be repulsed. He remembered their brief kiss in the mall and how utterly shocked Cas had looked.

"Are you feeling better?" Castiel asked in a low tone.

Dean nodded. He was better, physically; but his head was spinning.

"You seem tense. Is something else troubling you?"

"I'm good," Dean lied. "You make me feel good," he added and immediately bit his tongue. "I mean _this_ is good. It _feels_ good."

"I'm glad it does," Castiel said.

"Uh, alright, guys," Sam said, clearing his throat.

Dean had completely forgotten that he was still in the room. He forced himself to unlock his gazed from Cas' circling fingers. Sam was standing awkwardly in the doorway. Well, they had discussed having sex with each other, hadn't they? _No, Dean, _you_ discussed having sex with Cas._ Maybe his brother was a bit better at reading his face than the angel, because he seemed to be really uncomfortable.

"I'm gonna leave you to your… erm, pain killing. Gonna go on a grocery run. Anything I can get you?"

"I don't know," Dean replied. "Tampons?"

* * *

**Embrace the rainbow! I just really like unicorns, okay?**

**For those who don't know: Janet Weiss is a character from the musical "The Rocky Horror (Picture) Show" which is hilarious. You should watch it. The songs are great and it is just so crazy. Go to YouTube and type in "Sweet Transvestite" and the film title. You will not regret it.**

**This chapter contains the scene that I started with so I kind of went full circle now. But do not fret, there's still more to come. Please leave a comment and tell me how I did and what you want to hear.**

**Lots of love xx**


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